show me your fury
by slash mania
Summary: Not everyone can fury-craft. It's an ability passed on to few; Cobb's team just happens to be the best in more than dreamshare. (Or, the Inception of Robert Fischer with Fury-Crafting!)
1. Chapter 1

A.N: A few months ago I reread the Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher and was taken with the idea for this fic- an Inception and Codex Alera fusion! I looked around and hadn't seen it, so I decided I'd try. This is another reinterpretation of Inception- this time with fury-craft!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher. I'm just a fan.

show me your fury

Arthur was watching over them as they dreamed. It was their second five minute round and Cobb was continuing to evaluate the new girl's abilities.

According to Cobb, Ariadne came with Miles's highest recommendations. That surely a budding architect would be able to apply the same skills to building within a dream. And if Miles was right, she might have another, rarer ability that they have been searching for. Cobb wanted the best team for the Fischer job, after all. Too much was hinging on this job for them to fail.

The point man looked away, double checking some information he had received from Miles on this prospective dreamshare architect.

And all was well right until the moment Ariadne suddenly jerked awake, gasping and pressing her hands against her stomach, soothing a phantom pain.

Arthur rushed over to reassure her, the words "You're okay" already out of his mouth before the young woman had a chance to recognize her surroundings- that she was safe in reality now.

She forced herself off of the lounge chair, looking more reassured as her feet hit the ground. Then, Ariadne clenched her fist and punched Arthur in the chest. Hard.

Arthur was sent flying across the room by the force of the blow.

* * *

In the dream, Cobb was observing Ariadne's progress. Her manipulation of dream architecture was definitely advanced for someone so new to shared dreaming. She appeared comfortable, unafraid even as his projections began to take notice of the changes she made.

"This is great, but I'm telling you," Cobb said, hurrying after Ariadne as she worked. "If you keep changing things…"

 _My subconscious is going to attack you._

It was difficult to try and stop her, especially when he was waiting to see if she would be able to do something different. The little something that Miles had suggested she was capable of; that little, rare, but definitely necessary skill that Cobb wanted for his team. He wanted the best and he was going to get the best.

So, Cobb watched and learned about her use of real places in her design. He watched as his projections began to converge upon her after she created a whole new location using mirrors.

Maybe it was her saying, "Is that why you need me to build your dreams?" that pushed his projections into action. Maybe it was his little flare of anger that summoned up Mal.

But even as his projections began to rip Ariadne away from him, protecting him from this foreign entity, the infection within his mind, he spotted Mal approaching. She was pulling a knife and going after the young architect.

"Wake me up!" she yelled to Cobb, while she fought to free herself from the projections holding her.

"Come on!" Cobb shouted finally as he struggled through his projections. "Use your crafting!"

Ariadne looked at him for a second, away from the danger of Mal, not understanding his words.

 _Shit, when Miles mentioned the possibility, I should have known she was too green…_

"Like this!" Cobb said as he made his fire fury appear, a vibrant manifestation of a tiger made entirely of glowing red and gold flames. Its heat was palpable and it hissed at the projections surrounding it.

Cobb's projections knew his fire fury; they had become well acquainted with it as he had practiced and practiced its manifestation within dreams, honing its destructive powers. Because when a gun wouldn't do, a gigantic predatory cat made of _fire_ might.

"Go!" He called to the fury, pointing in the direction of Mal and Ariadne. The fiery tiger knew what Cobb wanted, using its sharp white-hot claws to swipe at the closest projections, making them bleed and burn and die.

But Ariadne was still dumbstruck by Cobb's fire fury. She was so dumbstruck that it took Mal rushing forwards, pulling her arm back to strike with the speed of an aircrafter, the blade of her knife diamond-hard with her limited metalcrafting.

And Cobb did nothing to stop it, even though his fury was at the ready, willing to do his bidding. He just couldn't do it.

Ariadne was stabbed and fell to the ground dying as Cobb's projections stepped away from her, knowing that the threat was disabled.

Cobb, breathing hard from maintaining his crafting, sweating from the heat of the flames, watched as his dead wife calmly cleaned Ariadne's blood from the blade of her knife and smiled at him.

Or, more accurately, she smiled at the fiery tiger that still stood between them, surrounded by the corpses of Cobb's less fortunate projections.

She didn't reach out to the tiger, but she did coo at it, whispering lines of Blake to the elemental being, just like she did the first time Cobb was able to work the manifestation completely.

Before, she was eager to quote, "In what distant deeps or skies/ burnt the fire of thine eyes?/ On what wings did he aspire?/ What the hand, dare seize the fire?"

Now, she met Cobb's gaze over the burning beast and smiled. "She still burns brightly."

Cobb couldn't bring himself to say anything in response. He just couldn't.

He waved one hand, forcing the form of the tiger to disperse. It was gone.

Even though he'd wake with the idea that he could still smell the burning or feel the heat on his fingers.

Even though he'd still feel the burning touch of his fury if he tried to call on it topside.

He shook it off, eager to get back to reality.

* * *

When Cobb opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Arthur flying across the room.

Ariadne was on her feet, hands still clenched, her first punch having already been thrown.

Cobb's fingers itched to check his totem- spotting Mal in a dream was always enough to make him question his reality, whether or not he was dreaming. But, even with the strangeness of his reality, of his elemental abilities, the sight of Arthur calling his wind fury was enough to remind him that this was real. Fantastic, but real.

A powerful windcrafter, Arthur had graduated to a level that most never reached. Arthur's furies could manifest themselves outside of dreams- they were sometimes indistinct, but they were there…and if Cobb looked closely, he could see a large wolf racing along the wind stream, hurrying to Arthur's aid.

The wolf ripped through the room; it rustled the papers on Arthur's desk, it kicked up little spinning clouds of trash from outside, and surprised Ariadne by twisting her unbound hair into a tangled mess.

The fury rushed towards the point man and broke his fall. Arthur was cushioned like that for a moment before he controlled the wind stream, forcing himself upright and cutting it neatly so he landed on his feet from a height of a couple of feet in the air. The sound of his perfectly polished shoes hitting the warehouse floor rang in the emptiness of the warehouse. There was a rumbling growl from the fury that lingered at Arthur's side, but the point man placed one hand on the beast's head, calming it. After another moment, the fury was gone, dismissed without Arthur having to gesture or speak.

Arthur was _good_.

Cobb brushed a hand through his hair, smoothing back the snarled locks. If Cobb was capable of windcrafting like Arthur, he'd bother to slick his hair back more often.

Ariadne couldn't take her eyes off of the man she had just propelled across the room with a single punch- she didn't bother with her hair and only relaxed her pose slightly. It looked like the fight was draining out of her, gradually being replaced by the instinct of flight.

Cobb really, really hoped she wasn't going to run away.

He'd have trouble catching her without gaining a lot of unwanted attention from the people on the street, especially if she could call to her fury and ride the pavement like a raft to get away.

Arthur was smoothing his hands down his clothing and walking towards the girl that had attacked him.

"You're okay," Arthur was saying, gentling her. "You're fine. I'm fine. Even Cobb is fine."

"But, what was that?" She looked at her hands and then shook her head, hard. "What was that in the dream?"

She asked this of Cobb, waiting for him to say _something_.

"You already know a little about dreamshare. You upset my projections, you changed too much." Cobb cleared his throat, "And I let you because I wanted to see if you could fury-craft."

Her eyes narrowed and Cobb had a terrible moment when he thought that she would stomp over and start a fight. With her earthcrafter strength, she would rip him to pieces. He'd have to defend himself and he wasn't sure how he would begin to explain this to Miles.

 _Yes, Ariadne was wonderful, a great architect in the making. But, she's also an earthcrafter with a short-fuse._

And she had every right to be angry about what he did- he let her bait his projections, he had called his fury too late to rescue her from Mal. Cobb cringed to himself, remembering how unwilling he had been to burn up Mal…

"That's some subconscious you've got on you, Cobb. She's a real charmer!" Ariadne hissed at Cobb, not moving in his direction. Cobb shared a brief look with Arthur, whose face clearly said _So, she met Mrs. Cobb?_

Next, Ariadne turned to Arthur, cautioning him. "I don't know if you can't see what's going on here, but Cobb has some serious mental problems that he's trying to bury down there and I'm not just about to open my mind to someone like that!"

She was about to turn on her heel and walk out, but forced herself to stop, turn, and apologize to the point man.

"And I'm sorry I hit you."

Then she left, shrugging on her jacket as she walked through the door.

The second she left, Arthur pressed one hand against his chest, slowly releasing the metalcrafting that had increased his tolerance of pain. Cobb edged closer to him, watching as the pain began to show on Arthur's face.

"Did she break anything?"

Arthur grit his teeth and took shallow breaths. "There's throbbing, but I won't be able to tell for sure until I get into the water and try to heal."

"I'll get the basin."

It was the least he could do. It was the very least he could do for his point man, for his friend.

Arthur shook his head. "No, Cobb. I need full submersion- I need a tub."

It was clear that Arthur couldn't continue his work for today. The watercrafting he would soon perform would take a awhile and leave him sapped of energy. The point man's watercrafting skills weren't the best, but it allowed him to heal small injuries, to truth-find if he could maintain physical contact with his subject, and work some minor shape shifting that watercrafters were known for.

Arthur's youthful appearance despite his physical age was considered to be a typical sign of a moderate to strong watercrafter. But Arthur wasn't the best. Cobb _knew_ who the best watercrafter was.

He was going to hire him, too.

"She'll come back," Cobb said as he abandoned the search for the basin and instead helped Arthur pack up. "Reality won't be enough for her. When she comes back, you'll have her building mazes."

Arthur snorted. "That's _if_ she comes back."

Cobb was already planning ahead, where he was going to go next. "Feel better, wait for her to show up, I'm sure she'll show up. While you do that I'm going down to Mombasa for Eames."

Arthur was using his free hand to zip up his laptop case. He stopped mid-zip to give Cobb an incredulous look. "Mombasa? But that's Cobol's backyard." He started to work on closing his laptop case again. "There's plenty of good thieves, Cobb." Arthur winced a bit but finished zipping up the laptop case.

Cobb shook his head, already set on it. He took Arthur's laptop case and carried it for him.

"We don't need a thief. We need a forger."

Arthur was quiet, silently fuming over Cobb's insistence that they hire Eames, a skilled forger and gifted furycrafter. Or maybe Arthur was in more pain than he was letting on.

Together, they closed up the warehouse and went back to the hotel they had rented rooms from. Arthur was only willing to let Cobb carry his items into the room and then refused any more help.

He left Arthur alone to prepare for the healing, allowing him the privacy he'd need to perform the watercrafting. Arthur would want the solitude for what would happen after the crafting had been completed; weak and exhausted, all Arthur would want to do is lay in bed, watch terrible television, and order as much room-service as he needed to recover his strength.

Cobb left Arthur to his task and prepared to do his own. He needed to find his way to Mombasa.

He needed to find Eames.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N: I was having a bad day and figured the only remedy would be Arthur in the bath. And then it took awhile to write. And now the day is better again _and_ Arthur's still in the bath. I declare it a win.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

Standing barefoot in his hotel bathroom, it had taken Arthur more than ten minutes to carefully remove his clothing. He damned himself for wearing layers. The waistcoat was fine, but his fingers flinched away from the throbbing hurt at the center of his chest. He cringed as he loosened the knot of his tie and slipped it from his neck, carefully unbuttoned his shirt, and wriggled out of pants which were tailored _perfectly_ ; if Cobb had stayed to help him, Arthur wasn't sure how comfortable the other man would be when he noticed his point man regularly went commando…

Arthur shoved those thoughts out of his mind and continued his work. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and examined the damage. At the center of his chest was a spectacular black and purple bruise that was almost the same shape as Ariadne's clenched fist.

He took as deep a breath as he felt comfortable with, not wanting to aggravate the injury any more than he had already.

Arthur leaned against the sink and looked around the bathroom of his hotel room. He counted his blessings; that this was probably something he could handle on his own and not need another watercrafter or a doctor to fix for him, that Cobb wasn't around to witness his difficulties, and that this hotel provided rooms with tubs rather than just shower stalls.

When he rented a room from this hotel, he hadn't actively thought _Yes, we'll rent rooms here because they have bathtubs for those emergency healing sessions!_

Arthur cursed to himself for his lack of foresight, though. That he hadn't had a tub at the warehouse so he could take care of it right then. He'd find one. Something large enough to work a watercrafting but that didn't take up much space.

"Warm water," Arthur murmured to himself, plugging up the tub and filling it about halfway with water, testing the temperature with one hand. "This will go nice and easy."

Arthur lowered himself into the tub, not wanting to slosh the water onto the tiled floor and soak the bathmat. With one hand against the tiled wall and the other clinging to the porcelain rim, Arthur managed to get into the water without incident.

Rather than let the warm water lull him into the sleep he desired, Arthur set to work immediately.

He already felt better as he sat in the water, his mind sharper, his pain pushed to the back of his mind. This was one of _his_ elements and he would be fine.

His abilities in watercraft weren't anything to write home about. Not that he could do that anyway- fury-craft had been labeled something like a state secret after the military testing of the PASIV brought crafting to light.

But, he was getting away from himself. He needed to focus.

Arthur focused and slowly opened his eyes, looking at the steam that was rising from the bathwater. If he watched for long enough, if he were patient, he would see the shape of his water fury. If he reached out, he would be able to cup the fury in his hands.

He did so, calling to it gently, as if he were worried that it would become too frightened and disappear. He concentrated, sharpening its blurred edges, allowing the fury to draw the moisture from the air, manifesting itself for the point man.

With Arthur's direction, the water fury appeared within the shelter of Arthur's loosely cupped hands. For as long as Arthur had known it, ever since he had claimed it, the fury had taken the shape of a delicate butterfly.

He had gotten a lot of flack over it; other gifted soldiers would make jokes about it, calling Arthur names behind his back. Eames had been the only person to not join in on the mockery.

Arthur had been practicing his fury-craft, summoning the water fury that he had bonded with, the one that had chosen him over all the other watercrafters in the camp. He stood before a tub filled with water, reaching out to his fury, calling it.

It had been the first time he had managed to manifest this nameless fury- he himself had been shocked to see such a fragile creature made entirely out of _water_. It defied logic- but by then, in dreams he had already seen Cobb's fire fury, he'd seen the effects of fury-craft in the waking world.

He was ahead of the curve in this- his manifestation of his furies, his control over them, was unparalleled. So what if the others wanted to poke fun at his fury?

Eames never did. Eames, a member of the same fury-craft project had been paired with Arthur to assist him on this front; Eames, who made leaps and bounds with his own fury-craft, who had proven himself to be a powerhouse of watercrafting skill _and_ ability. It was almost unheard of to have both attributes. It made Eames something of a prodigy, though none could explain how the young man could have gathered so much experience with a fury he couldn't have been aware of before Project PASIV.

Thinking briefly of Ariadne, Arthur was willing to bet that "couldn't" should be changed to "shouldn't".

But Arthur wasn't thinking about the new earthcrafter. He was still stuck in the past, thinking about the moment his water fury slowly revealed itself, fluttering gently between him and Eames. Both had taken opposite sides of the tub, keeping it between them.

 _She's lovely_ , was all Eames had said, smiling at the fury bonded to Arthur. Arthur hadn't been able to come up with a reply, aside from the obvious comment about the gender of furies. There were still arguments about the idea of furies that were either male or female or nothing at all.

At that moment, even Arthur couldn't deny that through his bond with the fury he could sense some small indication- some small flush of _pleasure_ from his fury, in response to what Eames had said.

It was bizarre and Arthur had to stop himself from pressing one hand to his cheek to check and see if _he_ were blushing! It was ridiculous! And worst of all, Eames had smiled in a way, had _looked_ at him in such a way, that made Arthur believe that the other man was completely aware of it!

Arthur shook his head and tried to get himself out of thoughts of the past- it was nothing. Arthur couldn't say that Eames was nothing. And maybe that was one of the reasons he hadn't been pleased with Cobb's news.

Hiring the best in the business would definitely mean hiring Eames as a forger. He would always be the best forger. He was also the best watercrafter. But Arthur still felt his thoughts drawn back to their shared past.

There was so much more between them than just being paired up during a military experiment. Not all of it had been good. Arthur would fight tooth and nail before admitting that some of it hadn't been all that bad, either.

It was in the past, it was over and done. If he were smart he would just let it go.

Instead of obsessing over it any further, Arthur returned his attention to the fury held between his hands. It, no, _she_ , wasn't a large butterfly. She had a wingspan of perhaps a couple of inches and only rarely rested; her favorite spots to take a break from fluttering about would be the back of his hands, the side of his neck, or on his shoulder.

For now, she remained at the ready, waiting for his direction.

"Okay," Arthur said. "Let's see what damage we've got."

It only took two seconds for the fury to do as he asked. She slipped into the water, became a part of it, losing some of the definition he had offered her when she first appeared. She didn't need it now.

Arthur concentrated, using his fury to search his body for the signs of injury. Eyes closed, Arthur began to get a better sense of what was happening to his body. Quickly, the fury centered her attention on the pain of Arthur's chest. Arthur, to be helpful, was pressing his fingers against the injury, guiding her there.

The pain flared brightly in his mind, burning a sullen red. Arthur cursed to himself, feeling at least two fractures with his fury's help. He pressed the flat of his palm against his sternum and ducked his head under the water, commanding his fury to enter his body at the same time.

The fury flooded into his mouth, down his throat, and zeroed in on his chest as he began to take deep breaths from under the water. He felt the fury begin her work- she was mending the fractures of the sternum, healing the deep bruise against his heart before dealing with the ugliness against the skin of his chest. It took several minutes- Arthur kept his eyes closed and breathed evenly, long since used to this facet of water crafting. He let his fury work, soothing the pain even as he became listless and tired.

He'd have to hold on a little longer while the fury performed the last of the repairs.

As the fury finished, she moved out of his body and returned to the water surrounding him, searching for any other hurt or wound. Arthur was conscious enough to feel her curiously prodding the scars on his back.

Arthur broke the surface of the water, blinking his eyes and shoving the heels of his hands against them. He coughed, clearing his throat of bathwater he had previously been siphoning oxygen through to breath underwater.

"No," Arthur said to the fury, speech already slurring a little. "Nothing,'s nothing." He felt the fury stay close to those scars, felt her questioning him.

But she always did this when he had to perform a watercrafting on himself. She would return to the places of old injuries long since healed- like the scar on his right foot from when he had stepped on a broken bottle or the scar from where he had his appendix out when he was eight years old. She had stopped returning to those spots because she understood them better. She didn't understand the scars he had gotten during his service with the military, during his training for fury-craft.

No matter how many times he told his fury, she always questioned him on this.

"Can't be done," Arthur said, stretching out in the tub for a moment, wanting to ease the ache in his back and shoulders. "Don't worry, dear."

Arthur hated those scars, but appreciated his fury's care. He reached for a cake of soap and set to work washing- it was half-hearted but made him feel a little better, it was always better for him to redirect his attention to another task after healing. First he'd quickly wash, and then he'd dry off. He'd put on his bathrobe and call in for some room service. All he wanted to do is lay down for awhile to watch mind-rotting television and rest.

The point man made short work of his bath and forced himself out of the cooling bathwater. He dried off in front of the mirror over the sink. The previously bruised skin of his chest had been replaced by the fresh pink of newly healed flesh. It was sore, but that would pass soon. All he needed now was some rest and a food.

Yawning, Arthur dropped the towel on the bathroom floor and turned to where he'd left the soft bathrobe he'd found neatly folded with the towels on a metal rack against the bathroom wall. As he did so, he spotted his reflection in the mirror again. He turned just a little, and from that position he could see the scars that his fury had been so interested in. There were three of them and they stretched from below his shoulder blades to his lower back.

They had been cauterized and even watercrafting couldn't heal a wound that had been burned shut. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at them, recalling how he earned those marks. They had hurt, they had hurt unbelievably.

Arthur tried not to think of it, it was in the past, but he could still remember the look on Eames's face after the damage had been done by a firecrafter practicing with a blade. Arthur had seen the white-hot burning of the blade and tried to dodge away, preparing a counterattack that would level that guy _flat_.

But the blade connected; not once, not twice, but _three times_. Stupid fucking aircrafter's speed!

Arthur had hit the dirt, biting back his scream of pain. His hand had immediately sought his dog-tags, squeezing them in his fist and calling up the power of his metalcraft to ward away the pain. It was barely enough, even as he was rolled onto his side by Eames. It was Eames who tried to heal him.

 _It's alright, darling_ , Arthur remembered the forger whispering in his ear as he called upon his water fury and laid hands on him. But it was wrong, even Arthur could feel it through his metalcrafting.

The minutes had passed and Eames wasn't able to do a thing to the wounds on Arthur's back. When Arthur opened his eyes again it was to the sight of Eames on his side, lying close to him. Eames appeared lost and confused; this was the first time that Eames's fury-craft had failed him. It wouldn't be the last time, too.

After another failed healing, Eames would decide to never use his watercraft to heal. Soon after that, he left the military and used his fury-craft for something completely different.

Not long after Eames's desertion, Arthur would do the same but with one small difference.

When he left, Arthur stole the PASIV and didn't look back when he fell off the grid and got into dreamshare. He had plenty of reasons to steal the technology, but one of the big ones happened to be the increased likelihood of seeing Eames again if he could hang onto the technology that brought them together.

Not that he was going to admit that to anyone.

Arthur stopped dredging up the past, stopped looking at scars that would never leave his body, and stepped out of the bathroom, bathrobe in hand.

He had a heavy meal to order and crummy television to watch.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N: Yay, another chapter! When I first had this idea, one of my very first notes was about how Eames would be the perfect watercrafter, that he'd be the best because he had mastered shifting gender, too. And because I like to play with Inception too much, I decided that I wanted Talulah Riley to be the face of his water fury.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

Eames was doing what he was best at- he was sitting at a table, playing a game of chance, sifting through the hum and pulse of emotions around him; searching for the valuable nuggets of gold.

Another lost game caused a sharp spike in the levels of anger around him, a flare of sadness and despair, and for more than a few, some dark throbbing of addiction with its characteristic _lust-desire-hope-hunger_ flavor. Just sitting so close to those afflicted with serious gambling additions was enough for Eames to get a secondhand hit. He was optimistic that his next move would be a winner, that his luck would turn, and he'd…

But what he was feeling from the dealer was enough to dampen those urges. The power of the dealer's sense of smug self-satisfaction and greed was enough to remind Eames what his goal had been in the first place.

The game was rigged; if the other gamblers at the table were aware of this, Eames couldn't tell.

Feeding the beast with forged chips, Eames waited for the subtle shifts in mood. He watched carefully, rubbing his poker chips together, playing the expected role of _nervous gambler with a tell._

But a second before he heard the voice, Eames was hit by the _grief-determination-hunger-hope_ of the speaker. It had been awhile, but it was familiar.

"You can rub them together all you want, they're not going to breed."

Eames didn't move. The blunt force of Cobb's teeming emotions was enough of an announcement of the man's presence. If it weren't for fair level of metalcraft, he would have been leveled to a whimpering heap by the force of them instead of being briefly stunned. But that was Cobb for you- not subtle, that one. That man's current emotional state positively screamed out, hitting Eames like a hammer between the eyes.

But Eames silently shook it off, waiting to see what would happen next.

"You never know," Eames said, finally placing his chips on the table. He chose number thirteen, the supposedly unlucky number. Maybe he could change that.

"Let me get you a drink," Cobb offered, standing close to Eames, waiting for him.

It didn't take long. The gamblers at the table groaned and Eames's forged chips were swept away, surely what Cobb had been waiting for.

"You're buying."

* * *

Sitting at a table with a view, Eames occupied himself with carefully cracking a pistachio as Cobb worked on his pitch.

"Inception. Now, before you bother telling me that it's impossible-."

"No, it's not impossible, it's just bloody difficult."

Eames tossed the little green nut into his mouth and began to chew, waiting to see what Cobb's response would be.

He wanted to feel him out, get past a few lingering doubts. Eames hadn't worked with Cobb in awhile. Taking on an inception with just Cobb would be…distressing. And disappointing. He had been thinking of Cobb and Arthur as a package deal, but here they were, no delightful point man in sight.

"Interesting. You see, Arthur tells me it's impossible."

Eames kept a straight face for as long as he could. The best he could do would be to change his look of astonished pleasure to one of believable mockery. Back on the military base, back in the experiment, he and Arthur had been known for their rivalry.

Of course, if you looked at it more carefully, the trained observer would have noticed their simmering attraction to one another; how their sniping, contrary comments were like a game of tag. Very: _see, I've got you here- now come and catch me._

And at times it wasn't just _catch me_. Other times it had been _pin me down_ _and make me yours_ , or _take my breath away_ , or _don't ever let me go._

The shame of it was that it was Eames who had let go.

That it was Eames who had run away.

Eames felt that long lost surge of attraction and lust that wasn't just born of earthcrafting. It was easy to look back on those days and say it was just an accidental use of crafting that had spurred the feelings that got way too complicated.

They had both known that those feelings didn't belong in the middle of a war, but it hadn't stopped them.

He recalled what happened the day Arthur had gotten hurt, how they were all learning what the limits of their crafting was.

After Arthur was hurt, Eames recalled finding the bastard that carved Arthur up with a flaming blade. He'd give him the fury-craft equivalent of negligent discharge of a firearm.

And though he continued his conversation with Cobb, he still thought about how his humanoid shaped fury had wrapped herself around the fool; covering his mouth and nose with both of her hands, letting him choke on water until he passed out.

If Eames had his way, he would have choked the life out of him in that manner. His fury didn't seem to mind, considering that she had a soft spot for Arthur as well. It took three other crafters, all of them firecrafters, to get his fury off of the man.

His failure to help Arthur still stung, it still burned. But there was nothing that could be done about it- not then and not now. His faith in himself had been shaken by the accident, but paled in comparison to the Incident that stopped him from healing anyone ever again.

Helping Cobb, giving him a different point of view as to how to plant an idea, where to look, Eames felt that this job represented much more than just getting a young man to dissolve his father's corporate empire. Eames suggested that Cobb choose Yusuf as his chemist, as well.

As the conversation went on, Eames had a funny feeling. There was something that Cobb wasn't telling him. There was something he was hiding.

But before Eames could do something like casually drop his hand on top of Cobb's and perform a quick truth-finding, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his head and noticed the man at the bar.

"You'll have to lose your tail."

Yusuf would have been pleased with the extra business Eames was bringing him. He would be less pleased with Cobol's men messing up his dream den and ruining his business, all to find Dominic Cobb.

It was useless to create troubles where none existed yet. Everything was fine, especially if one ignored the man from Cobol getting anxious at the bar.

Cobb noticed as well, but played it cool, asking instead, "That price on my head, was that dead or alive?"

Eames leaned back in his chair, watching carefully. He couldn't lie that he was taking some form of enjoyment from this. "Not sure. See if he starts shooting."

They made their plans to meet up at the bar again (the last place Cobol would look, of course) and then split up.

Leaving Cobb at the table, Eames immediately set to work running interference. It was a shame he hadn't a chance to slip into the restroom to do a quick identity change- he had the _perfect_ girl for this young Cobol man. This man clearly needed to loosen up and what better way to do that then have a slender, high-breasted little tart crawl into his lap and help unbutton his coat with her _teeth?_

But he was wearing clothes suited to himself- they would be too big for the shape he thought best for this situation. The girl he could become to distract this man would become ungainly in his large shoes; she'd look like a clown in slacks that would need to be hitched up around her slim waist, the paisley shirt and tweed jacket hindering the movement of her arms. The Cobol man would never see her graceful hands if they were lost in the sleeves of the jacket Eames wore now.

He'd have to do something different. Never mind fury-craft, never mind forgery.

Approaching the man from Cobol, Eames affected surprised pleasure upon finding him at the bar. He was glad he had grabbed Cobb's bottle of beer from him before he left the table; this would probably work if he were to be labeled as a _drunken man bothering others at the bar_.

"Freddie? Freddie Simmons? My god, it's you, isn't it!"

Though his back was turned, Eames could hear Cobb scrambling onto the window ledge and jumping off.

The man from Cobol shoved Eames out of the way, running after his fleeing mark.

Eames could feel the man's shock and annoyance as Cobb slipped away- then the man was on the chase and out of the bar! Eames smiled to himself, already hoping that Cobb did make it back to the bar within the half hour.

Inception, though bloody difficult, would still be a lot more interesting than this.

That and he'd get a chance to see Arthur again, too.

* * *

If one were to ask Eames about fury-craft when he was a little boy, he wouldn't know what they were talking about.

But, if he were asked about one of his _favorite_ games, he'd say right off that his absolute favorite game was when he'd watch mother change her face.

His earliest memories were of her leaning over his crib, leaning over his small bed, and practicing this trick.

It would make him smile and laugh- his mother's version of peekaboo was the most astounding one ever!

His mother, tired from work but always eager to make her boy smile, would cover her face with her hands and after a couple of seconds remove them to reveal a different face.

She was always female, but subtly different. She'd make herself tan, pale, or sallow. She'd make herself thin or plump cheeked, making funny faces at him with her _new_ face. Her eyes would become large or small, the irises shifting to all colors of the rainbow!

After he was laughing uproariously she would take his two little hands in her own and press them against his eyes, against his face.

"Your turn, darling. Can you do it, too?"

He'd try.

He'd tried a lot at that age and would get upset when he hadn't managed it himself. When he'd cry over his failure to be just like mother, she'd soothe him and suggest that it might not be time yet.

How was Eames to know what a fury was? Eames didn't know what any of that meant- he only dealt in the facts; that clearly his mother was fantastic and talented. The fact that no other little boys or girls he spoke to knew what he was talking about or practiced such a funny trick with their mothers or fathers wasn't to be held against them.

But the time he had mentioned it to his mother she had grown very worried and asked him to stop speaking to others about the game.

So he did.

As he grew older he wasn't asked to cover his face and try the trick. His father would speak softly to his mother about this. That _maybe it's too soon_ or _maybe he doesn't have it at all_.

Eames didn't really know what _it_ was supposed to mean.

That was until he learned about his friend in the river.

He knew that there was something strange about it, but he had so few friends anyways. He figured that his mother and father wouldn't mind one that didn't visit the house.

His house was on the farthest edge of town, a little cottage in the woods just like in any good storybook. Eames's favorite place to be alone with his thoughts was at the banks of the small river that cut through the forest.

It wasn't large enough for him to get swept up in as a small boy, but was a pleasant spot for him to pass the time doing his homework or reading a book.

Once, he looked down into the water and saw a face different from his own staring back at him.

It was a woman, smiling so widely at him when she finally caught his eye. He had been nine years old when he met his first fury, but wouldn't have known how to claim her. More likely, it was she who claimed _him_.

The important part was that they had finally found one another.

Not long after that, he began to learn something other than Math, English, and History at school. When he got home he would begin entirely different lessons concerning this new skill.

With the help of his fury he could take on the shapes of others, disguise himself completely. His mother was very proud of the way he could change his voice, the intuitive ways he would tweak his appearance depending on the situation.

When he was fourteen, he had told his mother that he could shift between genders, then he demonstrated it for her; she was quick to soothe his worries over what it meant. She informed him that he was just very skilled, but she wasn't going to say that he was the first she had heard of performing such a trick. That none of her relatives gifted with these strange talents had been able to do such a thing- and after she had quietly informed her husband of the news, that none of _his_ relatives could do that either!

As he grew older, his abilities to manipulate his appearance or the sound of his voice became second to his ability to heal.

First, small things- the day his mother cut her hand while chopping vegetables for dinner, he put her hand under running water and pressed the wound closed with the same amount of thought it takes to flip a light-switch.

Then, bigger things- the summer his father tried to replace the shingles and fell from the roof, breaking his arm and nearly cracking his skull. Eames had been outside helping, but couldn't fix those injuries with just a touch. That time, he yelled for his mother to fill the tub and dragged his father inside the house. The tub made it easier, the submersion allowed his fury to heal wounds that he hadn't been aware of and couldn't see.

But, above all things, Eames wanted to know _why_ his family was capable of doing any of the things he had witnessed over the years. He wanted to know and his family didn't have any answers for him aside from: _We bond with these things, these elements, in order to survive._

They were treating it like a gene mutation, like a product of evolution. Eames wasn't sure. Eames needed to be certain.

Getting into the military and becoming a part of Project PASIV were a good start.

* * *

There weren't any earthcrafted roads in Mombasa- not that there were many in any other place, but it would have made Cobb run _a lot_ faster. He was running as fast as he could, drawing strength from the ground, not daring to build, not daring to do anything except get the hell away from his newest buddy in Mombasa. And Cobb's latest buddy had a few friends waiting to help chase him down.

He didn't want to find out if the men following him were capable of fury-craft. He didn't want to run into a situation where he could get hurt- he knew that Eames wasn't a healer anymore. That and it would take some miracle for Cobb to find his way back to that bar while wounded.

Between running down twisting streets, hitting someone with a musical instrument, and getting thrown out of a restaurant, Cobb found himself going down a _very_ narrow alley. He was between a rock and a hard place, literally.

If he used his fury-crafted strength, he could break the walls and get killed by falling debris.

If he used his used his earth fury to push the walls out of the way, just giving him a few more inches of space to work with, he might have a chance. But having his fury push a building off of its foundations was a recipe for trouble- people could get hurt!

And then, Cobb had a brilliant idea.

The few that had managed to get into the narrow alley were working steadily, carefully sidestepping to get closer to their goal. They didn't expect Cobb to fight back in such a narrow space.

Suddenly, hands made of stone burst through the walls of the alley, reaching for the men following Cobb.

The men began to scream as the hands seized them, lifting them off the ground and holding them in place. Stone hands grabbed their arms, their legs, and wrapped around their waists to keep them stable and secure.

With this advantage, Cobb had just enough time to squirm out of the alleyway, breathing a huge sigh of relief. As soon as he was a couple of feet away, the crafting broke and then men were released.

Cobb continued to run, looking around, sure that he had lost his tail as well as his tail's friends, and was making his way back to the bar when he was stopped by another man in the street.

Cobb cursed. When was he going to catch a break? Was this really going to be the end?

And then as a black car was driving by, the passenger opened the car door, hitting the final man as the car came to a sudden stop.

His new employer, Mr. Saito was now hanging half-out of his car, smiling.

"Need a lift, Mr. Cobb?"

* * *

Eames waited with his back against a wall, looking at the street and trying to spot Cobb. Their half hour was coming to an end- the longer he waited here the more likely he was going to be spotted by someone he didn't want to speak with. The last thing he needed was for Cobol to get on _his_ case, all because of Cobb!

And then, he spotted Cobb's blonde head pop out of a car's open window.

Eames smiled. "Ah. So, this is your idea of losing a tail, huh?

Cobb gestured him forwards. "Different tail."


	4. Chapter 4

A.N: I'm sorry for the wait- I wanted to post this last week but didn't have time- so I made it twice as long!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. I don't own the Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher.

He heard a noise. Arthur's back stiffened, he turned his head just slightly…he heard it again.

He silently called to his wind fury, caught the sight of his stalking wolf, feeling the gentle breeze it was made from; knowing that if he required it, the fury could go from a breeze to a gale force wind within a few seconds.

The wolf became an invisible presence in the room, moving swiftly to the door. Arthur focused, concentrating on his fury. _An echo-chamber_ , Arthur thought to himself, _I need to hear them._ He gave his fury the order.

His fury whispered to him, agreeing and doing as Arthur wished; suddenly, Arthur's hearing was much better, sharper than before; his fury was picking up everything within a short range. Not as effective as watercrafting, but it would do in a pinch.

Arthur heard the noise again- it was footsteps. The footsteps of someone trying very hard to be sneaky, but not really hitting the mark. It was almost like this person wanted to be caught.

Still standing at his desk, Arthur reached for the first thing he could lay hands on. He avoided the open case of the PASIV, ignored some other items that wouldn't be much help for offense or defense, and then, spotted something that might work. He picked up the stainless steel ruler he had left on top of the desk, using his metalcrafting to sharpen the straightedge, making it a decent if temporary weapon.

His fury was picking up a little more; his guest was much closer now, almost to the door, and then…

Arthur dismissed his fury and dropped his deadly ruler back onto the desk- he really hoped that she didn't notice how the sharpened edge _bit into_ the tabletop. He turned away from the desk and greeted Ariadne.

She was standing uncertainly in the doorway, as if she were certain that he would send her away.

"Cobb said you'd be back."

At his words, she became bolder. She walked into the room, coming closer. "I tried not to come but…"

"But there's nothing quite like it."

Arthur wanted to laugh. He would have bet actual money against this happening! But he couldn't deny that he was happy to have her back in the warehouse- he could check off _Acquire New Architect_ from his to-do list. Now he just had to wait for Cobb to come back with Eames. _Then_ they could get started on more than just research. They needed to plan the impossible.

"It's just," Ariadne said with a small smile, shrugging as if she thought she was being ridiculous, "…pure creation."

Arthur remembered Cobb's words. _When she comes back you'll have her building mazes._

It was like Cobb had been giving him a lesson plan for their new architect. With Cobb's problems, he'd never be able to instruct her. It was going to be Arthur's job to teach her to build mazes, to introduce her to the possibilities of dreamshare architecture without having terrifying projections try to murder her- Arthur was so steady, his subconscious well organized, his dreams so stable, that his mind was the perfect place to teach a new dreamer.

He could barely suppress his genuine smile when he turned to touch the PASIV, already eager to go under.

"Shall we take a look at some paradoxical architecture?"

* * *

They had made a circuit of Arthur's Penrose Steps, when Arthur cautioned her, stopping her from taking another step.

She looked down, saw how far away the ground was and swallowed hard. If she hadn't been careful she would have walked right off the edge.

"Paradox," Arthur said, looking down at his busy projections.

Before she could stop herself, she said it.

"How did you do that thing?"

Arthur stared at her, brows raised. "You're not talking about dream architecture."

"It was a wolf," Ariadne said slowly. It still amazed her. "It was a _wind wolf!_ "

"I was expecting you to mention Cobb," Arthur said instead, looking around before very carefully sitting down on the edge of his stairway. She did the same, sitting close and watching his face carefully. "Or Mal. I _definitely_ thought you were going to mention Mal."

"Fine, let's get that one out of the way. They're divorced?"

"She's dead."

"Oh." Ariadne did look a little more disturbed by this; even with her limited understanding of dreamshare, shades, and projections, she understood that Mal represented something _bad_ for Cobb. But she wasn't going to be discouraged from her original question.

"You were _flying_!"

Arthur rolled his eyes but also couldn't help smiling. "You did punch me in the chest hard enough to send flying across the room. Did you think my fury was going to let me slam into the wall?"

"Well, no! It's just- you were- it was _so_ ," Ariadne got a hold of herself, realizing she sounded like a child. "I guess I'm excited because you're one of the first people I've met that can do that."

"And Cobb," Arthur added. "Doesn't fly. But he can use earthcrafting to build or to make himself stronger. His firecrafting is very impressive not only for its destructive capabilities but the way he can use fire to manipulate passionate feelings in others."

Before she could ask, Arthur was already listing them. "Fear, anger, and joy. It works well in extraction- just stay close to the source and have your fury manipulate one person or an entire room. I wish I had that."

Arthur noticed Ariadne staring at him.

"What?"

"It's just," her hands were hovering over her chest, over her heart. Arthur was getting these flashes of emotion from her; _worry, regret, fear_. "Are you okay? From before?"

Arthur sighed and did the one thing he could think of; when he touched his tie it unknotted itself and slipped over his shoulder to collect on the step by his side. He undid a few of the buttons on his shirt, ignoring the way Ariadne's eyes widened comically.

"Look."

Just enough of his chest was exposed, just the space over his heart, so she could see that he was fine. Not enough time had passed since the healing; the skin was still tender, not as pink. It would have looked much worse if she had cut him open or given him a scar or two. This was nothing compared to what he'd experienced in Project PASIV.

It was enough to impress her. She reached out hesitantly before finally making contact. She gently pressed two fingers to the spot he had repaired.

"You can heal yourself. It's better."

When she pulled her hand away, Arthur began to button up his shirt. "It wasn't as serious as I first thought. Your earthcrafting has made you very strong, but you'll need to be careful."

Ariadne looked at him questioningly. He explained. "If I were to attack you, here and now, there wouldn't be a way for you to fight back. Your feet aren't on the ground, you're too far from the element your fury draws strength from. This dreamscape doesn't have much earth in it- I've created an environment that's metal, wood, and glass. You'll need to keep that in mind when you build a dreamscape- you might unintentionally inhibit the abilities of other crafters."

She was nodding thoughtfully. She was looking down at the figures below, watching the passing projections.

"Can they craft, too?"

Arthur was picking up his tie and putting it back on, more to give himself something to do with his hands than anything else.

"Projections do not furycraft. You can militarize the subconscious so it can fend off the attacks of an extraction team."

"But can you train them to furycraft?"

"Possibly. I've never seen it happen before."

Arthur stood up and began walk down the stairs, Ariadne following quickly.

"But where did all of this come from?" She made a hand motion that was probably meant to include them as dreamworkers and furycrafters, as well.

"Let's get off the stairs- I'll take you for a walk and tell you a story."

* * *

"Not everyone can furycraft, but a very long time ago, it was much more common."

They had stopped at a coffee shop that appeared when Ariadne mentioned being a little thirsty. She thanked Arthur and offered to pay for their coffee. He let her because, well _dream money,_ obviously.

"There are several theories circling the mystery of furycraft. Archeologists are still finding artifacts from this culture. We have very well preserved examples of their language, their history, and don't know where they came from."

"But those who can furycraft are descendants?"

Arthur shrugged and took another sip of coffee. "It's a theory. If there was once a civilization of people who could master the elements, where did they come from, why don't we know more about them? Another theory is that these people were from here originally- that they became lost and discovered these crafting abilities in a different world."

"Aliens?"

Arthur grinned. "No. The Lost Roman Legion and the Bermuda Triangle. It's theorized that this lost Legion discovered a world similar to Earth called Carna. Maps that we have discovered depict a world containing three large landmasses. The lost Legion claimed one and called it Alera; they became Alerans. And after a number of years spent living in this strange place, fighting battle after battle, they bonded with furies." Arthur waved one hand, frowning. "It gets spotty past that. There was conflict, unrest, war, and finally some kind of threat that nearly destroyed them."

"Maybe they found their way back," Ariadne was saying, "Maybe they found their way back here and started over."

Arthur nodded. "The Bermuda Triangle theory isn't the most popular, but it lends some weight to the argument when paired with some of the writings that have been found. They _were_ running from something, something horrifying. They called it the Vord."

"Vord," Ariadne repeated to herself. She shook her head and asked something else. "So, as the descendants of the Lost Roman Legion or whatever, we have the ability to control the elements with furies."

Arthur nodded again. "It's a rare gift- we only became aware of it during Project PASIV. In using the technology to train soldiers to fight a war without spilling a drop of blood, the PASIV was also doing _something_ to those who already had those latent abilities. It was like opening up your mind with the PASIV also unlocked the door to your elemental gifts."

"But I've been able to do this for awhile…"

"When was the first time you furycrafted? I'm sure you must have noticed something strange, right?"

Ariadne was hesitant; her steps slowed down, forcing Arthur to slow down as well. He waited for her answer, patient but unrelenting.

"When I was very small," Ariadne began, but stopped and began laughing uncomfortably. "This is going to sound horrible!"

Arthur was tempted to tell her something worse- he had horrifying stories about his introduction to furycraft while he was in the experiment. They were constantly testing the strength of their chosen crafters, but Arthur could only remember it as a sick form of torture. He had been driven mad with firecrafted fear. He had been forced underwater with the command of _breathe deep_ ringing in his ears. He had fallen from the sky when his windstream was ripped apart by a handful of thrown salt, making his fury scream in pain while Arthur screamed in terror as the ground rushed up to meet him. But the worst was the live burials- they knew he was a strong earthcrafter, he showed all the signs. But he didn't know how yet. He was terrified as they chained him up, assuring him that if he had the earthcrafting strength he'd break from his bonds. That he'd make the earth around him move, that it would be easy to tunnel out! It still sent a shiver up Arthur's spine to recall how cold the ground had been, how it pressed on him from all sides. If he hadn't learned to call on his metalcrafting, learned to fall back into the calm state of mind the metalcrafting could offer along with great tolerance of pain, he would have used up his oxygen and asphyxiated while six feet under.

"My brother was joking around," Ariadne was saying, still trying to make light of it. "He didn't _really_ mean to do it."

Arthur cleared his throat. "What didn't he mean to do?"

Ariadne forced a smile that almost reached her eyes. But only _almost._ "He buried me alive in the garden."

* * *

As Ariadne explained, her brother had only been playing.

 _Gonna send you to China_ , was what she remembered her brother saying as he dug and dug.

Ariadne hadn't thought twice about it when he said to get in the hole- she was four years old and playing with her brother was one of the things she loved best, even if a lot of his games involved putting her somewhere she couldn't get out of.

 _Close your eyes_ , he sang, sprinkling dirt over her face. _Hold your breath_. Then taking it by the handful and tossing it over her body. She was covered from head-to-toe in dirt and still he didn't stop, even when she began to cough and cry.

It was heavy. That was what she remembered most- the dirt was so _heavy_ and so _cold_. He'd told her to stay, patting the mound of earth she was hidden under.

 _Stay or I'll tell on you,_ was what he'd commanded, something that he usually ended these games with because he got bored after he trapped her; whether it was locking her in closets, letting her get lost in a hedge maze, or _forgetting_ where she was sitting at the movie theater during a family outing. He always said _stay_.

But this time, she didn't listen.

She dug and kept her mouth closed and eyes shut tight. If she could, she would have cried out loud, she would have begged for her mother and father. But she didn't. Bizarrely, she cried out but didn't make a sound.

The earth shifted for her- it moved under her hands, till she was sifting through the dirt and rocks and bugs that lived in her mother's garden. There was this feeling, this strange, little hopeful feeling that something was answering her.

After a moment, something touched her questing hands- it was hard, made of rock, but had a strange shape. With her eyes closed she could only see it by touch- it was a large, familiar shape, something that she liked a lot.

Ariadne loved tortoises. She thought that they were special- they laid eggs, could win races against hares, and lived for a really long time! If she could have one for a pet she'd love to name it something special- nothing like Speedy!

Her fingers traced the large shell, touched the legs, and gently patted the tortoise's head.

Wanting to speak, but unable to, Ariadne thought at it.

 _Get me out? Can you get me out?_

The tortoise didn't answer verbally, but there was this- this _emotion_ coming from the creature. It was scared for her, had come because she'd been scared, too. It would get her out, most definitely, it would free her from the cold ground because it wasn't where she belonged.

Ariadne had felt strength flooding through her, but strength wouldn't be enough to get her free- for a child her size she was buried quite deep. Holding onto her new friend, she felt the earth begin to move around her, carrying her along beneath the ground. Soon, she found that she could breathe- that her friend was carving a path that also gave her a source of oxygen!

She took great breaths of air and nearly sobbed when they made it to the surface, popping up like daises not too far from the grave her brother had planted her in.

The bright midday sunlight hurt her eyes, but also gave her a chance to admire her new friend. It was, indeed, a tortoise. It was large, with a shell made of stone and bright diamond eyes. Ariadne couldn't stop herself- kneeling on the ground, she grabbed the earthfury and hugged it to her chest, not even questioning her ability to lift something so heavy.

It wasn't as large as the Galapagos Tortoise she had a picture of in her room, but the creature was definitely too big for such a small girl. She overbalanced and fell backwards with it on her chest.

Of course, that was the moment her mother arrived home from her trip to the store- her mother was looking for her, already speaking to her brother- she could tell just from the tone of her mother's voice that Aiden was going to get another _talk with daddy_. He was always upset after these _talks_ and Ariadne hoped that she'd never have to have a _talk_. She already knew that you weren't supposed to bury people, lock up people, or get them lost in mazes.

Why didn't Aiden get it?

When she heard her mother opening the glass-sliding door that led to the backyard, Ariadne looked at her new friend and hugged it tighter.

"You've gotta hide, now."

The tortoise with gem-stone eyes looked at her curiously, its stone neck extending so it could touch noses with her.

"Hide, please!" Ariadne whispered to it, gesturing to the hole in the ground. "Mommy can't see!"

The tortoise understood; it got off of Ariadne's chest and as soon as it touched the ground it was swallowed back up, turning back to dirt and stone. It moved swiftly under the ground, shifting the dirt back into place, making a more or less smooth spot where her brother had initially tried to dig to China and successfully buried his sister alive.

* * *

Arthur stared. "And you're mother didn't realize-?" He left out what he wanted to add to that sentence- _that your brother was probably psychotic, that you were gifted,_ or, once again _, that your brother was probably psychotic?_

She read between the lines and shrugged. "I haven't spoken to Aiden in years- if he's crazy, mom and dad aren't saying anything. I came to Paris to learn architecture and only come home once or twice a year. Each time, Aiden is usually 'out'."

They began to walk once more- the dream should be ending fairly soon, but this was an important conversation. She was a young furycrafter with no one to train her, she had no previous exposure to a PASIV, so her abilities were natural.

"I can help you with more of your earthcrafting. You clearly have skill but not practical experience."

Ariadne tossed her empty coffee cup into a nearby trashcan. "When Cobb turned to me in that dream and told me to use my crafting, I wasn't sure what he meant." Then, she shrugged. "Well, that's not completely true. It's not like I spent most of my formative years pretending that A'tuin, wasn't real."

Arthur was pleasantly surprised. "So, you weren't sure if the earthfury was a figment of your imagination, but still, you named it after the World Turtle in Discworld novels?"

"I regret nothing," Ariadne answered before hearing the sound of their musical countdown, hearing the lyrics and laughing at the irony.

* * *

Saito had to take a call- it gave Eames the perfect opportunity to have a conversation with Yusuf without their extractor or client listening. Yusuf was busy monitoring Cobb's responses to the compound.

"I may not be a watercrafter, but I could swear that I can _sense_ the questions burning you up from the inside."

Eames rolled his eyes. "A watercrafter doesn't sense _questions_. A watercrafter can sense emotions and truthfind based on what he or she senses. Truth has a distinct flavor."

Yusuf grinned. "And what would that be? I wish I could truthfind- I'd ask you all sorts of teasing little questions about you and Arthur and all of your _feelings_."

Eames wasn't going to give him an answer- that's what Yusuf wanted, to poke and prod and annoy Eames over the torch he still carried for the point man.

"You should be happy, Eames. You'll get to see Arthur's frowning face again fairly soon! Then you can pine for each other across a warehouse rather than a few continents, give or take an ocean!"

"You think you're so clever," Eames groused to himself. "I will be happy to see Arthur. Is that so wrong?"

Yusuf paused to check the time on the PASIV, nodding to himself before pulling off his glasses and cleaning them. He put them back on and pointedly didn't answer Eames's question.

"Really? Do we have to have a conversation about my love life every time we see each other?"

"Yes."

The forger glared at him but moved on to a different topic while their client was out of the room.

"There is something strange going on, but I'm not sure what."

"And here I was singing the praises of watercrafters," Yusuf tsked to himself, "I knew that it was all a parlor trick."

"Well, first we have Cobb agreeing to take an impossible job-," Eames said.

"Doesn't seem to think it's impossible; he's hiring the best of the best to make sure it works."

"Not saying that inception is impossible, it's just bloody difficult- damn, I should get a t-shirt made for how many times I _say it_. No, this is just too convenient- there has to be a bigger reason for Mr. Saito to hire Cobb to break up an empire."

Yusuf shrugged. "Dreamshare has been used to break up empires, steal secrets, and ruin lives. This isn't so out of the ordinary, Eames."

"It's a feeling," Eames said seriously. "It's not going away. I think I have to speak to Arthur…"

"Everything you just said can also be applied to your romantic woes, too."

Eames bit back his swear.

"Got a scrying bowl?"

Yusuf looked away from Cobb, actually curious. "You haven't used one of those in awhile."

"Fine, it doesn't have to be an actual scrying bowl! Just give me something that can hold a decent amount of water."

Yusuf looked around and plucked a clean beaker off of a shelf and passed it to the forger.

"What are you going to do?"

"Exactly what I said- I have to speak to Arthur."

The chemist raised an eyebrow and mimed holding a phone to one ear. Eames made it a point to flip him off before leaving the room.

* * *

Eames took the beaker to the bathroom and filled it with water from the sink. He placed it on the edge and looked into its depths, preparing himself.

He called to his waterfury and she answered. She arose from the water; a delicate statue of water, perfectly shaped, looking around herself in confusion. The look she sent his way informed him that she wasn't amused by the beaker.

"I'm sorry, darling," Eames said, placating her. "It was the first thing I could get my hands on. We have to contact Arthur."

The annoyed look slipped away, shifting and changing to one of joy at the sound of Arthur's name. And then, she did what she usually did.

Instead of his fury's familiar shape, Eames saw another. She had changed her image to Arthur's within a second, looking up at him, in such an Arthurian way it almost hurt Eames to see it.

She had taken to doing this every once in awhile; Eames believed that it was her way of asking ' _Where is he?_ _Why isn't he with us?'_ and when he'd gently tell her that they couldn't see Arthur (using any number of reasons to explain the complicated situation) she'd persist, making Arthur's image appear in the sink when Eames was doing dishes, on puddles on the street after the rains came, or in the bath.

He knew it was bad when even his fury couldn't take her mind off of Arthur…

"Darling," Eames said, speaking to this miniature version of Arthur, "We're going to see him soon, so stop playing around, alright? We need to call him."

She changed back, serious and ready to do as Eames asked. His waterfury rose out of the beaker, floating above it as a mass of water. Then, she dispersed, moving swiftly and invisibly through the air to her intended contact.

 _Find Arthur,_ Eames instructed her through their bond. _We must speak to Arthur!_ Then he focused on all the things that defined Arthur as Arthur- his physical appearance was one thing, but there were other things that his fury knew just as well; it was better than a fingerprint for the point man. They had his emotional signature- his loyal Arthur, his determined Arthur, his competent and dangerous darling!

She would find him- she would alert him when contact was made, then enable communication. Feeling stupid, Eames ran a hand through his hair, looking at his reflection in the chipped bathroom mirror.

* * *

Ariadne had poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge; as she poured, she clearly heard a bell ring.

Perplexed, Ariadne began to pour again, freezing when she heard the bell once more.

"Hand me the glass, please."

Arthur had moved quickly, much more quickly than Ariadne thought possible- then, she remembered, the point man was also a windcrafter.

She gave him the glass and watched as he took the cup of water and spilled it across the floor. She stepped out of the way, thinking that the water was going to collect around their shoes, but it didn't.

It- it shifted, collected, and rose up to the height of a man roughly the same height as Arthur.

And for a minute, it was Arthur. A perfect imitation of the point man standing at her elbow.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and appeared to be holding back a smile. "Hello to you, too. Now, if you would be so kind as to give me Eames?"

Arthur's mirror image smiled brightly in a way Ariadne had yet to see. The image shivered, changed, and became a different man.

"Hello, darling, I-," the figure spoke then stopped, looking around and spotting Ariadne. The figure Arthur had called _Eames_ gave her a critical once over.

"Glad you could meet our new architect," Arthur gestured to Ariadne and then spoke to her. "This is Mr. Eames, our forger."

His voice sounding tinny, like he was speaking to them through a long tube, Eames greeted her with his fury's help. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ariadne, but may I steal Arthur for a moment or two?"

She nodded quickly, putting down the pitcher and leaving the room to give them privacy. As soon as she was gone, Arthur leaned against his desk and looked at the watercrafted image of the forger.

"I wish we were closer," Eames said with a huff.

"And why would that be?" Arthur spoke calmly, but that didn't stop his stomach from flip-flopping.

"Because then your fury would work a manifestation in your image for me. It would be almost as good as seeing you face to face."

Arthur wanted to say a lot of things in response to that- for instance, that Eames could see his image in whatever he was scrying from, but he didn't. He shook his head and said, "You'll see me soon enough, Eames. What's the meaning of this call?"

The image of the forger frowned. He folded his arms and said quietly, as if he was worried that someone might hear him wherever _he_ was.

"Do you think there's something strange about Saito?"

"He's a rich and powerful man who has hired us to destroy a rival company- I don't see anything strange about it."

The image of Eames wavered as he shook his head. "No, not like that. Cobb was asked to take this job _during_ an extraction on Saito, yes?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Saito treated it like it was a job interview."

"What if he allowed himself to be taken in for extraction? What if he wanted to find a reason to hire Cobb for this job?"

"Too many 'if's'. Cobb's the best at extraction, he's made a name for himself with it."

"And Cobb's a furycrafter. Every person on this team is a furycrafter, Arthur. I have a feeling that something strange is going on. Something isn't right about Saito, I just can't put my finger on it."

Arthur was silent for a moment. "He wanted us badly. Well, he wanted Cobb very badly- he's willing to offer Cobb a chance to clear his name and go home to his kids for this."

Eames was nodding quickly. "And since he nabbed Cobb, he also got you, too. You're like a package deal."

"Let me see if I'm following you," Arthur said, listing off points on one hand. "You feel it's suspicious that Saito has _possibly_ gone to great efforts to hire Cobb. You feel that this job is about more than corporate espionage."

Eames nodded again. "There is something personal, something dark. Saito has another reason for wanting Robert Fischer incepted, I just don't know what. What was your first impression of him?"

"Calm, collected, powerful, but, yes," Arthur said, thinking back to the Saito's behavior during the dream, the man's behavior afterwards when he attempted to hire Cobb. "There is something strange. When are you due to arrive?"

The forger closed his eyes and thought to himself, "Soon. The closest person to Robert Fischer is his godfather, Peter Browning. I must infiltrate Fischer-Morrow so I can observe the man and get a better feel for the current situation."

"Good, that will give me some time to do some more research."

The forger's eyes snapped open. "You didn't already obsessively research Saito?"

"No," Arthur drawled, rolling his eyes. "Why would I do _that_? It's not like I'm suspicious of every person I meet in dreamshare. I've done the research. I need to go a little bit deeper, double check a few facts, and then I'll feel better about confronting our client."

Eames was smiling at Arthur, looking like there was something he wanted to say, but avoiding it at all costs. And then he changed his mind. "It's," he rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, looking a little sheepish. "It's going to be nice to see you again, darling."

Arthur felt too warm. He also felt silly, weak, and young. He wasn't the young man he was before; time had passed, he had changed, but it both irked him and made him _happy_ that Eames was still able to stir these feeling up in him!

Maybe some of what he was feeling showed on his face because Eames was finding a reason to wrap up this communication, giving Arthur the time and space he needed to cool off. It was still ridiculous how well the man knew him.

"I think I hear Cobb waking from his practice run. I will be in contact with you soon so we can trade information and come up with a plan."

Arthur didn't see anything wrong with this, agreed and said goodbye. After a moment, Eames's fury vanished from the water, causing the column of water to spill to the ground, just like water was meant to!

Arthur had a lot to think about- and if Ariadne wasn't in the room, he could do something practical with all the spilled water. Arthur sat on his desk, keeping his feet off the floor so he could command the sizable puddle to begin sweeping itself across the floor, mopping up any dirt and dust.


	5. Chapter 5

A.N- Its like no matter what I do, I can't get these things written and posted on Friday! But, here is the next installment, something I meant to wrap up in the last chapter, but didn't. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

Eames had left his cell phone on vibrate- it was _very_ important that he not draw undue attention to himself as he observed Peter Browning.

He was receiving a call or text, but he had to remain cool and pretend to be a new, but politely disinterested, intern at Fischer Morrow; he was Mr. Isaacs. Mr. Isaacs would only be interested in his ass of a boss leaving the room to consult with his obviously ill, bed-bound business partner. Mr. Isaacs would be eager for his next cigarette break, might think of getting a drink later when work was over, and would head home by himself.

Mr. Eames, playing the bored intern, noticed much more than Mr. Isaacs would- he noticed how the tension skyrocketed in the room the second Browning's thoughts or plans were questioned. He _felt_ what the young man who had argued against litigation felt. It was _painful squirming shame_ and _nervousness_ as the ailing boss was mentioned; his fear of the elder Fischer was profound, but lessened only a little the minute Browning turned away to leave the room and make good on his threat. Perhaps the rest in the room knew that it was an empty threat? Or, maybe it was an indication of who held the most power in this situation.

 _The vultures are circling_ , Eames thought to himself. He just about had the shape of things now- he'd be able to leave without making a lasting impression. Mr. Isaacs would fall off the face of the earth and a new intern would be hired to take his place.

The phone vibrated again.

Eames frowned to himself, looked around briefly, and removed his phone from his pocket. He took a quick peek at the screen.

Arthur had tried to send him a message twice. The two messages were identical- the fact that he had sent two at all was very revealing- repeating the message or sign was one of their old forms of code. _Once_ meant there was news. _Twice_ meant there was news and it was very important.

The cell phone was a burner- he could break the SIM card and leave the phone in a dumpster. It had only one number in its address book, the one that Arthur had given him via watercrafting.

 _I think I'm on to something. I'll contact you once I'm sure_ , Arthur had said as he spoke through his fury, appearing in the bathroom sink just this morning. Arthur didn't bat an eyelash at Eames's state of undress, he didn't make any comments about Eames's care and attention to his task- the forger had been busy shaving when Arthur politely used their other code, the sound of a bell from the water, to warn Eames of an incoming message.

Arthur had given him the phone number, waiting politely as Eames fetched a pen and paper to write it down.

Apparently, Arthur had found something very important. The message Arthur had sent him twice contained a single letter. It was an uppercase c.

If Eames were new to this sort of job he'd make the mistake of swearing aloud, getting the wrong sort of attention, and having to leave before something very stupid happened. Instead of swearing, Eames very calmly closed the message and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had a few more hours to kill here, just for the sake of appearances, of course.

When he was finished he'd shed the identity of Mr. Isaac's like a second skin and _run_ to Arthur.

* * *

"Mr. Saito," Eames began, moving to where their client was seated for their meeting. "I'm going to need you to unbutton your shirt."

At those words, everyone turned to look at him and Saito- except for Arthur, who had been doing so already and Ariadne who hadn't been able to stop looking at Arthur or Eames, period.

Yusuf had settled near to her and whispered, "Now you're going to see something amazing."

"Eames harassing our boss?"

The chemist chuckled. "No. You're going to see Arthur and Eames in action."

And, just like Yusuf said, Arthur moved to Eames side, eyeing their client and monitoring his reactions.

"Definite surge in his emotions," the point man said softly. "Push harder."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Eames." Saito stood, but kept both dreamworkers in his sight. "Why should I remove my shirt?"

"There's something strange about this entire situation. Speaking as the man who sat in the lion's den to observe Browning, I _know_ that there is more to this situation than a power struggle as Maurice Fischer is approaching death. It's more than two energy conglomerates battling for dominance."

Arthur touched Eames's shoulder, quick, like he was tapping into the debate. Eames acknowledged him and let him take the lead.

"I've studied your company. In two years, Proclus Global hasn't engaged in anything that could pass for a battle of dominance."

Saito said nothing.

"He's afraid, darling."

Arthur agreed. "If I've got this right, he's got every reason to be afraid. I could be wrong; I could have spent all night linking together a series of coincidences. But I don't think so."

The point man extended his hand to Saito, waiting expectantly.

"In the old days, back when furycraft was more common, a strong watercrafter could sense whether a person was telling the truth by _listening_ for it. What we can do now is a shadow of that- I hear you speak, feel the emotions surging inside, but I can't spot whether or not you're being truthful."

Arthur nodded to his hand. "Physical contact makes it easier, of course. I could ask you questions and tease out the truth."

"Like a lie-detector?" Saito asked, suspicious of Arthur.

"No," Eames said, answering Saito and remaining at Arthur's side, watching their interaction. "Or, not exactly. Depending on temperament, mental state, or disorder, a lie-detector could give a false reading. Like, right now…," Eames narrowed his eyes and remained focused on Saito, reading his emotional state with the help of his fury. "Right now, you're frightened. It's amazing how frightened you are, despite your lack of a physical reaction- you heart rate has barely budged. You aren't sweating, you aren't breathing hard, and you haven't developed a sudden fidget. With a lie-detector, you might get away with bald-faced lies. Good liars capable of fooling a strong watercrafter can get away with saying all sorts of foolish things and the watercrafter wouldn't be able to spot the falsehood."

Eames smiled and slanted a look at Arthur. "Like that time we practiced truthfinding and I swore up and down that the sky was vermillion and the clouds were marshmallows and you couldn't tell I was lying."

Arthur rolled his eyes, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Mr. Eames- we learned that you are a gifted liar and that I lack subtlety."

"My advice is simple," Eames said to Saito. "Take Arthur's hand and get this over with. We can't continue the job without being certain of your intentions."

Saito looked over Arthur and Eames's shoulders, towards where Cobb was standing, observing his forger and point man's interrogation.

"Is this necessary, Mr. Cobb?"

"There's a little anxiety now, darling," Eames stage whispered to Arthur.

"I _am_ standing right in front of him, Eames. I may not be as great a watercrafter as you, but I can still sense his emotions just as well as you can."

"We never did get the chance to practice more," Eames said regretfully.

If Arthur caught that flare of emotion from the forger, he didn't flinch. He squared his shoulders and waited. Saying _well, you_ did _run away before we had a chance_ wouldn't have done them any good. That and he was sure Eames would feel his resentment, his anger, his unwarranted feelings of _abandonment._

Cobb crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "It is. Arthur's greatest concern is the safety of the team and the success of the job. He's the best at what he does. Eames is the most perceptive crafter I've ever seen- between the two of them they can learn your secret. If you're hiding something that will risk the lives of my team, myself, or the mark, I'll pull out." Cobb swallowed hard and continued. "I want to see my children again, Saito. I need you to give me a damn good reason to incept Robert Fischer now."

Saito deflated just a little. His shoulders drooped and he extended one hand to Arthur as the other moved to carefully unknot his tie.

Arthur took the business man's hand in his own.

"A simple yes or no would be fine."

Saito nodded.

"If I'm right, there might be a limit on what you may say."

Saito cleared his throat and said, "Yes."

Arthur felt it- that was the truth, right there. It was _sharp_ and _clear_ and sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. When he noticed this, Eames reached out and gripped Arthur's shoulder, offering support and sharing some strength.

"Your last interaction with Fischer Morrow was two years ago- there was a meeting and you hoped to reach some kind of agreement."

Saito shook his head. "No."

"There was very little press on the subject, but there were indications that this meeting was meant to benefit both companies. It appeared that Fischer Morrow was going to stop fighting Proclus Global in the hopes of settling the dispute."

Eames frowned, looking at Saito and gauging his responses. "Go deeper, darling."

Arthur cleared his throat and tightened his hold on Saito's hand. "Fine. After this meeting occured, your company has done nothing, and I mean it, _nothing_ against Fischer Morrow. If there was ever a battle for dominance, it was at that meeting. You lost and I know why."

"Yes," Saito said, appearing to carefully navigate his way through other possible responses. "Continue."

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out. "You know, we learned about this during Project PASIV. So many discoveries were made about the powers of furycraft and as time went on, we also discovered that there were many ways to use these abilities to make _fury-crafted_ items of great worth and power. We could craft structures like buildings and walls and roads. We could craft metal into weapons. But the archeologists had discovered a strange item- they found them in heaps, discarded like trash. Cobb could tell you about how these artifacts had been introduced into the program, how other researchers would test these artifacts on the soldiers capable of furycrafting."

Arthur gestured to his own throat, saying, "Please?"

Saito grit his teeth and did as Arthur asked. He loosened his tie a bit more and then undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Then he shifted the shirt collar away to reveal his neck.

Saito was wearing a thin metal band around his throat- it was a collar. This didn't surprise Arthur. Back when he and Eames worked and trained together, they had developed the signs as warnings. If either offered the uppercase c; whether it was in a note, heard in a windcrafted whisper, or an earthcrafted message spelt out in the ground, it meant they had to run the fuck away. If they saw it, they were to run, no questions asked. They knew what was intended with the collars; but Eames had deserted before the threat of being collared ever reached him while Arthur had fled with the PASIV technology and the Cobb's at his heels.

"You were collared during that meeting- the Fischer's must have some form of furycrafting in their family and it wouldn't have been hard to find an discipline collar."

"Yes."

"This is your motivation for incepting Robert Fischer; if it had been the father who forced this on you, bound you to his will to make you cooperate, you would be much more worried about the state of his health. Because I'm sure you already know that if the person who bound you died, you'd never be free again."

Their collared client was silent; everyone was silent, watching this strange and horrifying turn of events. Every eye was on Saito. Cobb came closer.

"You asked me to incept Robert Fischer not _just_ to break up the family empire, not _just_ to stop his company from becoming a world superpower, but to free _you_ ," the extractor said. "You want him to change his mind about _keeping_ you this way!"

Saito's eyes flashed, "Because of this- this _thing_ , Fischer Morrow has efficiently tied my hands. And worst of all, they had the _son_ do it!" Saito's breath was coming in harsh pants, like he couldn't breathe. "The relationship between father and son is quite complicated- he is frightened of his own skills in furycrafting and is aware of his father's disdain. The father believed that making his son the master of his rival in business would make him stronger, but it fell apart quickly."

Then Saito gave a keening cry of pain, his fingers reaching instinctively towards the source. He flinched away from the collar when he touched it, fear radiating from him.

Arthur gasped, eyes widening as Saito shared the shock of pain the collar was giving him, shared his fear. He stayed on his feet but had to let go of Saito's hand immediately. Arthur leaned heavily against Eames, fighting against his own fury's confusion and pain. She didn't understand this, he'd shielded her from this the last time he'd seen one of the collared ones.

All Arthur's fury understood was that it wasn't something that could be healed, just like Arthur knew that he couldn't physically remove the collar with his earthcrafted strength. If he tried that, he'd end up killing Saito and ruining Cobb's one chance at returning home.

"Take a deep breath, darling," Eames was whispering in his ear, no doubt sensing what Arthur felt, having sensed everything from Saito as well. "Come along, let's get some air."

Arthur shook his head. "No, not yet." Then he took a stumbling step towards their client, even as Eames stepped forwards with him, keeping one hand on Arthur's forearm.

Saito was crouching on the ground now, trying to work his way through the feedback of the collar- Arthur remembered this, having seen it done to other soldiers. It made him feel just as sick now as it did in the past. Saito was being slammed with a haze of pleasure, rewarding him for stopping his outburst. Saito was avoiding everyone's eyes, even as a tremor of pleasure hit him again.

Arthur felt sick, but was reassured by the contact he'd maintained with Eames. They were good at this- they had each other's back, they could balance each other out. God, he'd almost forgotten how much he missed the stability they offered one another. When he was sure that he could speak without whimpering or doing something else embarrassing, he slipped out of Eames's grasp and kept his balance, very aware of the other man's presence at his back.

"I'm sorry that this has happened to you."

Saito looked up, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. "Can it be done? Can it be reversed?"

"You know your limitations- Robert Fischer hasn't set you with strict commands, just the most basic one to not go against his father's company. So you haven't. Even the way you managed to get Cobb to try and extract from you," Arthur shook his head, impressed. "You found a way to get Cobol to arrange the extraction; you had _someone_ _else_ in your company pretend to sell your secrets and provide the perfect opportunity to access them from the source as you took a long trip by train."

"You had blacked out much of what you had in the safe," Cobb contributed, thinking. "I stole it all. This must have been what you were hiding…"

Saito nodded shallowly, finding the strength to get back into a standing position. "I have spent much time on this plan. You must get Robert Fischer to change his mind, Mr. Cobb."

There was a painful moment when Cobb didn't say anything in response to that.

Arthur didn't look at Cobb- he felt the man's inner turmoil. No doubt he recalled the practice of collaring; both Dom and his wife had been deep in Project PASIV. It was unclear whether or not the young married couple had _created_ the PASIV first, or had been hired as academics to research its effects. Either way, Dom and Mal had become memorable faces on the base, had carefully put soldiers through the mandatory PASIV training only to discover the strange furycrafting side effect in themselves and others. They were powerful crafters and the military was loath to lose gifted individuals or the technology that offered them new super soldiers.

Because after the PASIV revealed the gifted subjects to them, they could be collared and put under complete control. Arthur had learned that not only _he_ had been a candidate, but so had Eames, and Cobb. Arthur remembered running to the Cobb's and forcing them to leave- they were resistant until he said something he would never forget.

 _Stay,_ he'd growled, _and get collared. Leave and be free. If you stay here you'll be nothing but animals for them to experiment on. They'll start a brand new program on the gene mutations of furycrafting and breed you like cattle._

It made Arthur sick, it all made him so _sick_. So he ran with them and stole the technology that could find more lucky candidates. Stealing the PASIV didn't mean there weren't black market PASIVs out there. It didn't mean that natural furycrafters like Eames and Ariadne weren't found among new recruits.

But he liked to think that he'd made some difference in getting them out. That they'd had a chance to be happy and build their little family and could continue their research since Arthur had taken the PASIV with him! They had become a tight knit group of friends rather than just two researchers and one gifted soldier who tried to save them…

And then Mal committed suicide and blamed Cobb- it was dark and ugly and Cobb was still hiding something from him. Arthur _knew_ that there was something else Cobb hadn't revealed about Mal's death.

But this wasn't the time to press the issue. Would Cobb continue the job now that he knew Saito's secret?

Cobb cleared his throat and looked to _everyone_. "This is good. Now that we know about this-," Cobb floundered and couldn't think of a word to encapsulate the sheer horror of Saito's being collared, "- now that we know, we can change our plans accordingly. It's not enough to get Fischer to break up his father's company, we will also need to get him to release Saito…"

Saito moved to sit down on his chair, looking utterly exhausted.

"I will split up my father's empire," Cobb said, saying it aloud. He moved to write it down on the nearby whiteboard.

He paused what he was doing and looked around at the team- Saito slumped in his chair, Arthur still in close contact with Eames who watched him with concern, and finally Ariadne and Yusuf playing wide-eyed spectators.

"You know," Cobb said, capping the dry-erase marker he had just used. "Why don't we take a break and stop for lunch?"

Arthur waved one hand and went into action, "I've got it covered."

He took orders, grabbed his wallet and jacket, and then headed out the door. It didn't take him long to notice that Eames was following him out. Arthur didn't have the energy or the actual _desire_ to tell Eames to leave him alone- Arthur didn't want to be alone with his thoughts and Eames was still good at catching onto Arthur's moods. It was like nothing had ever changed.

"Figured you'd like a hand with the bags, darling."

Arthur nodded and tried not to read too much into how they walked side by side, in perfect sync.

"Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

A.N: Short, Arthur/Eames centric chapter- but I'm having a bad day and wanted to get _something_ done for the story. And this is a decent point for what I have planned next.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception, or Codex Alera, or _"Hope" is the thing with feathers_ by Emily Dickinson.

Eames took a peek at Arthur; carefully turning his head just so, looking out of the corner of his eye, extending his furycrafting senses to feel what Arthur felt.

The point man was still a riot of conflicting emotions; there was _fear, anger, loathing,_ and a sharp, shining glow of _righteousness_. And underneath that were older emotions that he was sure Arthur thought he hadn't caught. It was _bitter, sad, scared, abandoned._ It left a bad taste in Eames's mouth to notice just how strong those feelings were in Arthur; that there was a flare of it every time they interacted.

And he deserved that. He _knew_ he deserved that!

As Arthur adjusted his hold on his share of the team's lunch order, he turned to look in Eames's direction, as if he had heard the forger call out his name.

The point man frowned and made a gesture with one hand, calling upon his wind fury to muffle the sounds of their voices. It would make it very hard for someone to catch what they said. To Eames, it felt like the air had been tightened up around his ears.

"You've got something to say," Arthur said without dancing around the issue or slowing his pace. "Get it over with, Mr. Eames."

"I'm sorry."

"Specificity, please."

Eames kept up with Arthur, avoiding fellow pedestrians.

"You know what I mean. I meant to say something before but didn't get the chance."

Arthur sighed. "I know why you did it. The accident scared you, but you have to understand that it was just that; it was an accident."

"The boy still died, Arthur. It was still my fault!"

It was years later and Eames still felt raw- the memory of that failed watercrafting haunted him still. Eames tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, tried to keep some of it from Arthur, but it didn't work. It never worked.

That was the trouble of being a strong watercrafter. He could sense what people felt, could guess their emotional states, tease out the truth if he listened and reached out to touch them. He really, truly wanted to touch Arthur to truthfind, to see if he were being honest.

That, and he really was touch starved for Arthur. He really wished he could get away with touching Arthur right now.

Then, Eames felt Arthur's free hand slipping into his own, as if he had sensed the forger's desire for contact.

Eames immediately tried to let go of Arthur. "You- darling, you don't have to do that."

"Shut up," Arthur said, clenching his jaw and focusing on maintaining his windcrafting. "God damn it, Eames, I'm tired of this. You want to know how I'm feeling? You want to know what I want? Just ask!"

And Arthur laughed; quick and short. "This conversation will be over by the time we reach the warehouse, so choose your questions carefully."

"Fine," Eames licked his lips and didn't bother hiding the flush of pleasure he experienced when he held Arthur's hand firmly in his own. "I missed you. Did you miss me, too?"

"Miss you?" Arthur laughed again. "Oh, I did so much worse than miss you. I tried to _stop_ missing you by diverting all of my energies into saving Dom and Mal. Then that blew up in my face and I spent much more energy chasing after Cobb and trying to clear his name."

Through the press of their hands, through their furies, each man couldn't help but find the truth in the other's words. Eames couldn't hold back his smile.

"You need a new hobby, darling. I bet you would be fantastic at crafts. I can just imagine you sitting during a job, quietly knitting as the PASIV hums in the background."

"Sure, after all this is over, I'll sit down and take up something time consuming." Eames heard Arthur's sarcasm but felt his honest pleasure as the point man solemnly said, "I'd cross-stitch for you."

Together, bantering away just like they used to, Arthur and Eames smiled at each other where their team couldn't notice it. Not that they wouldn't notice the metaphorical warming of the temperature in their relationship.

"I wanted you to know that I didn't stop thinking about you."

Arthur looked at Eames.

"If I thought that I could come back- if I thought that I wouldn't mess up again, I'd have come back for you."

They had slowed down; the busy lunch crowd flooded around them, grumbling or talking on their cell phones, distracted.

Still connected, Eames felt what he could only describe as this fluttering feeling. If it had a color, he'd say it was yellow. It was a shy sort of yellow. At first, Eames couldn't place this fluttering, shy emotion churning inside of Arthur. The point man's expression was giving nothing away, but it was almost like he was waiting, holding his breath. Eames would have liked to imagine that his darling was crossing his fingers behind his back.

 _Hope_. Eames was feeling _hope._ And no wonder he was feeling it flutter in Arthur's chest- hope is the thing with feathers! What would Arthur say if he started quoting Emily Dickinson at him? If he hadn't already been feeling it, he would have put his flaring of hopeful anticipation to his drawing on Arthur's emotions, a common problem with watercrafters of their skill.

Usually, it was annoying. But right now, Eames would give anything to share what Arthur was feeling, to have it spill over to him, overwhelm him a bit. He'd like to drown in Arthur.

"Darling," Eames said softly. "You know already, don't you? You can sense it too, can't you?"

Arthur said nothing, but gave a very small nod. "I've been practicing my crafting. I'm a lot better than I used to be- you're telling the truth."

And Eames couldn't help himself. He really couldn't.

"Care to test it? Two lies and one truth." Arthur agreed, waiting for Eames to speak. The forger smiled and leaned in, whispering needlessly as the windcrafting was still keeping their conversation private. "The skies are vermilion, the clouds are marshmallows, and I missed you terribly."

This got Eames a smile from Arthur, but it faded quickly. "This is a terrible idea."

"I disagree."

"No, really, this isn't good," Arthur ducked his head, and removed his hand from Eames's, cutting the close connection between them. "We have to focus on the job. We have to get Cobb back to his family and we have to get Saito freed from Fischer's control!"

Eames was a little hurt by Arthur's letting go of his hand and breaking the connection. His fingers still tingled; he still felt the echoes of Arthur's pent up emotions.

And whatever he said, Eames _knew_ that Arthur was doing what he had become accustomed to on his own- he was putting aside what he wanted, he was ignoring his own feelings, and he was pretending that the needs of others were greater than his own.

Eames had been waiting for the courage to speak to Arthur about their difficulties. He had finally gotten the chance to speak with Arthur, to work with him again, and now he was going to blow it by being too insistent?

He had moved a little too fast. They both had- it was true, there was the job to think of, and the horror of Saito's collaring, and Arthur's ultimate goal of getting Cobb safely back to his children.

"Hey."

Eames dragged his attention back to the living world and focused on Arthur again.

The point man cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable with himself. But he spoke, clear and true- even if Eames wasn't laying a finger on him, he could _tell_.

"It's a terrible idea," Arthur said once more, "but that doesn't change how I feel about you. We can pick this up later, we can start over when the job is finished…if you want to try again."

Eames caught and held on to that shivering feeling of hope that Arthur was broadcasting on a silent level. His cautious, frightened, but still hopeful Arthur.

The forger smiled brightly at him, throwing caution into the wind when he reached for Arthur's hand again. He caught Arthur's hand in his own and pressed a very soft, very chaste kiss to the back. He felt a pulsating spike of _want_ , a tremor of arousal from the point man- Eames almost shivered at the sensation, at how familiar it was, how much he wanted to wrap himself up in that feeling! If he weren't careful, he'd have persuaded himself to drop his bag of takeout onto the sidewalk and pull Arthur in close so he could kiss him full on the mouth!

But, before he could get too far out of hand, Eames let go of Arthur and took half a step away.

"That was a most emphatic 'yes'," Eames said as Arthur tried not to give him a visible sign of what he had been feeling. But, Eames could see it. He could see it in the way that Arthur's lips were parted, the way his pulse jumped in his throat, how he had unconsciously leaned _forwards_ when Eames had let go and stepped away.

If he had given Arthur a nudge with his earthcrafting, they'd be unable to take their hands off of each other, public street or not!

But, Eames thought to himself, a gentleman doesn't do that sort of thing without their partner's consent.

He let Arthur regain his self-control. No doubt his having been completely aware of everything Eames was feeling and wanting to do had almost short-circuited the point man's brain. It was tough being two watercrafters with buckets of unresolved sexual tension.

But, they were professionals. They shook it off and went back to what they were doing. They began walking down the street, unmindful to the people that stared at them before minding their own business and moving along. After a few moments passed, Arthur made a gesture with his free hand and the windcrafting was broken. He stopped himself from rubbing at his ears where he'd felt the pressure of Arthur's fury.

"We'll have lunch," Arthur was saying, keeping a brisk pace and their destination in sight; the warehouse was maybe a block and a half away. "After that, Cobb will want to go over our game plan."

The faster they got through this job, the faster they'd be able to get on with their lives.

"And we will snipe and argue and pretend we aren't attracted to each other, right?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at Eames's words. "It's obvious that we're attracted to each other, Eames. It's probably something that can be seen from _space_. No, we just have to be ourselves."

Eames smirked a little to himself. When they got to the warehouse, Eames made it a point to hold the door open for Arthur, saying, "Fine, what's our plan?"

"Simple enough- I'll be condescending while you're brilliant and you'll make fun of my word choices and tease me."

"Got it, darling."


	7. Chapter 7

A.N: So, I'm having these persistently bad days. I somehow developed chest wall inflammation and have spent the last few days in ridiculous pain. But I promised myself that I'd write this and try to feel better- I cried in bed and thought of really stupid things, like: that water spot on the ceiling looks like a butterfly, why can't Arthur come and fix me with his watercrafting? So, here is the chapter born of my aggravation and need for _someone_ to be happy; mainly, Arthur and Eames, because this is one of the scenes I thought of in the very beginning for them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the Codex Alera.

They were practicing their crafting on the warehouse roof.

When Ariadne had raised the perfectly valid 'but what if someone sees us?' argument, Cobb had assured her that Yusuf would have them covered.

They got to the roof, only to find that the perimeter had been covered with plants and flowers.

Yusuf was examining a few of them; eyeing the wilting blooms, tutting to himself over a shrub with browning leaves.

"This was the best you could do, Arthur?"

The point man raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "It was short notice- I raided a few discount plant shops and got the weirdest looks when I brought it all back to the warehouse. I've provided you with an excellent working environment- your woodcrafting will not be affected by the metal present within the building."

"Woodcrafting?" Ariadne couldn't help but ask, already feeling like every other word out of her mouth was a damned question. She didn't like the way that it made her feel and sound; like she was a child or silly or not quick on the uptake.

Yusuf, who had been very kind during their first meeting, turned to her with a wide smile.

"Woodcrafting is amazing," Yusuf assured her, as if he didn't get enough chances to extol that particular crafting's greatness.

Eames snorted, tried to cover it up with a cough, but still drew Yusuf's attention.

"Comments?" Yusuf asked. "Concerns? Woodcrafting is wonderful, full stop."

The forger rolled one shoulder in a shrug, fluid and unconcerned. "I've got some woodcrafting, Yusuf. You don't need to give me the speech."

"You might have to give _me_ that talk," added Arthur before moving towards the edge of rooftop and the neat line of flowers and plants. "I just don't see it."

The chemist narrowed his eyes. Ariadne wasn't sure how she could tell, but there was this shiver in the air, this _feeling_ she couldn't quite describe. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the small tree with thin fragile looking branches began to move on its own, reaching out to the point man. The distance was short, but surely he could hear the rustling of the leaves to his left?

She was going to speak when she caught sight of Eames moving a bit closer, eyeing the plant but keeping quiet.

"Plants," Arthur was saying, as if he didn't notice the restless tree nearest to him. "Never really had much of an affinity to plants. During the summer back home, I'd have to spend hours in the garden doing the yard work."

The tree's branches were an inch or so away from grasping Arthur's left wrist. That was the moment Eames acted.

"On your left, darling!"

As if he'd been aware of it all along, Arthur spun on his heel and called out to his wind fury to draw on its speed. The point man dodged the questing tree's branches but was snared by a nearby flower bush.

Arthur growled and finally called his fury by name.

"Come on," he said glaring at the offensive plant life twining around his ankle, snaking up his other arm to restrain him. "Here, Spot!"

The wind wolf manifested immediately, approaching with his head lowered, teeth exposed, attempting to put the fear of Arthur into the plants that held the point man.

"Good boy," Arthur said with a smile, his smile as wide as the wolf's. "Are you ready? Want to try your new trick?"

Ariadne looked over at Eames, gauging his response. The forger was smiling as well, admiring the large wolf bonded to Arthur.

"Admit that woodcrafting is as important as the other forms of crafting."

The point man, still bound up with living plants, shrugged in the chemist's direction. "I would prefer not to."

Then, Arthur returned his attention to the wolf and said, "Spot, speak!"

The wind fury began to howl; it was like the noise the wind made on a terribly stormy night. If they were near windows, Arthur's fury would have shaken the glass in the panes.

Ariadne noticed something odd. Her hair was being lifted up into the air. There was a zinging electrical charge in the air, getting stronger and stronger as the air tightened around them.

But, before the standoff between Arthur and Yusuf could get dangerous, Cobb stepped in.

"I never thought I'd have to say this," the extractor said, a shade disappointed. "Arthur, I _will not_ be happy if you accidentally electrocute the team."

Ariadne watched, open-mouthed, her fingers attempting to smooth out her staticky hair. She looked to Eames for an explanation.

"He can call the lightning?!"

"Hey, you can't be Arthur's groupie," Eames said, eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm the head of his fan club and I'm not accepting new members."

Arthur was smirking to himself, unable to stop his laughter. After praising his fury for a job well done, the wolf was dismissed.

"I wasn't going to shock Yusuf. That would be childish. Almost as childish as making a bunch of half-dead plants grope me."

Yusuf immediately blushed. "As if I'd do that!"

The point man shrugged and brushed himself off. "The tree's branches kind of, um, how would I say it?" He nodded to himself. "Yeah, they _stroked_ my pulse point before gripping nice and tight."

"My," Eames said thoughtfully, using one hand to fan himself. "That's a bit steamy, Yusuf. But no matter how much your wood fury likes Arthur, I'm not letting you into the club, either."

Cobb looked exasperated, shaking his head and turning his eyes skyward as if he were about to softly ask, 'Why me?'

"Stop talking about your Arthur fan club," he said and pointed at Eames.

"Stop claiming that Yusuf's fury is trying to harass you," he said and pointed at Arthur.

"Stop getting defensive about your furycrafting!" Cobb finally said, pointing at Yusuf, too. "I've hired all of you because you're the best in the field. We didn't come up here to have a bitchy contest about who's the best at what!"

Yusuf straightened his lap coat and nodded. "Right. You're right." He looked to Arthur and apologized. "I'm sorry. I just hear a lot about how good you are at watercrafting, or aircrafting, or earthcrafting. I got jealous."

Stepping away from the plants along the edge of the rooftop, Arthur reached out to shake the chemist's hand. Once, twice- a nice firm handshake.

"It's okay, Yusuf. I can understand. You may not have as many furies as I do, but your wood fury is quite impressive."

Eames snorted and didn't bother hiding it. "Oh, I see what you did there, darling."

Ariadne frowned, looking between the three men and then shooting a glance at Cobb, who had once again covered his eyes with one hand.

"What did I miss?"

The forger leaned in closer to her, speaking softly. "You see, Yusuf has this terrible fear of inadequacy when he works with crafters of greater skill."

She raised her eyebrows. She was getting it. "That's nice and immature."

Eames rolled his eyes. "The man's greatest skill is wood- someone's going to make the jokes, it's best to get this out of the way. And if Arthur can give our chemist an ego boost, who's going to get hurt?"

The forger cleared his throat and jumped into the conversation. "The way I see it, Yusuf has _great_ skills in woodcrafting. I have _fair_ skills in woodcrafting. And you, darling Arthur have _none._ " He frowned and pretended to think about that. "Oh, my poor darling."

Before Arthur could answer, Cobb jumped in once more. "I get it, super suggestive humor involving the double meaning of the word _wood_. It's time for you to put your woodcrafting to good work, Yusuf."

The chemist nodded, holding back a small smile as he closed his eyes and called to his wood fury.

The shadows cast by the large bushes began to stretch across the roof. The trees laced their branches together to create a screen. Looking below her feet, Ariadne noticed that the roof had been covered in a fair amount of leaf litter, grasses, and other plant material.

When Eames caught her looking at the ground, he gestured to the open sky. "A woodcrafter's best friend is living and dead plants. They can use the materials for camouflage- with all of the stuff on the edge of the roof we've reduced the visibility from other rooftops. The materials on the floor helps hide us from up above."

Ariadne was impressed. She watched as Yusuf opened his eyes and then examined his handiwork. Satisfied, the chemist moved to an open structure, more like a modified storage closet, mentioning as he walked, "I'd better get back to work on the compound. Give me a call if you need me!"

* * *

With Saito still resting downstairs and Yusuf working in his less restrictive environment on the roof, it left the remaining team members an excellent chance to plan and work on their crafting.

"Arthur has told me that you've plenty of skill but not much experience with your earthcrafting. In dreamshare, it's possible to utilize your elemental skills, but things work much more smoothly when you've developed some muscle-memory. Today, we're just going to practice some basic crafting. Arthur and Eames will serve as an example."

After having removed their jackets and weapons, the two dream criminals faced each other at the center of the roof with Cobb and Ariadne watching from a safe distance on the improvised sideline.

"The rules are no blood, no broken bones, and no _accidentally_ throwing anyone off the roof."

Arthur and Eames nodded and fell into a relaxed stance, eyeing each other, waiting for a signal.

"Begin!" Cobb called to them.

For a moment neither man moved.

"What?" Eames asked, amused and relaxed as he watched the point man. "Nervous, darling?"

"Less talking and more eating the floor, Mr. Eames."

Before Eames could say something in response, Arthur was just a well-dressed blur that rushed towards him, his aircrafted speed giving him an advantage. Eames had been struck across the face and thrown to the ground within half-a second. The impact was sudden and _hard_.

Arthur, no longer moving with terrifying speed, had sat himself down on Eames chest, pinning the man to the ground. Not a hair was out of place and barely breathing hard, Arthur offered a dimpled grin to the man he had just taken down.

"Oh," he said, using two fingers to gently tip Eames's face to one side and looking at the mark on his face. "I made sure to use an open hand, but I'm pretty sure this is going to bruise."

"Kiss it better?" Eames said as he blinked up at Arthur, moving his previously limp hands off of the roof's floor and settling them against the point man's hips.

Arthur smirked and leaned in to press a very soft kiss against the mark he'd left on Eames's face. Being so close, Arthur could hear Eames very clearly when he spoke.

"You remember that one time in the service when you didn't know I was a bit of a woodcrafter and you tried to bind me with a hemp rope?"

Eames's clever fingers had made their way up to the perfect knot of Arthur's tie. The point man's eyes widened when he felt it unknotting itself and slipping away from his collar and into Eames's hand!

Arthur jerked away as quickly as he could, cursing to himself as he felt the material of his tie wrap itself around his wrists. At Eames's silent direction, the tie knotted itself in a complicated double constrictor knot- the knot that would be almost impossible for Arthur to free himself from. If he kept pulling it would only get tighter.

"Really, Arthur? You wore a natural fabric tie?" Eames tutted at him, still smiling at the look the point man shot him. Arthur, his hands bound in front of him and useless for crafting, forced himself to his feet.

He stumbled a few steps away, calling on his earth fury, borrowing its strength.

Eames got to his feet and watched Arthur, knowing what he was doing. The forger rubbed at his cheek, wincing just a bit when his fingers touched the sore spot. "I wouldn't try to use earthcrafted strength to break free from that knot. You're more likely to damage your lovely hands and wrists!"

Arthur glared at Eames, making it a point to lace his fingers together, making his hands into one fist.

"I'm not that delicate!"

The point man lunged forwards, swinging his bound hands at the center of Eames's body.

Eames fell back a few steps, barely dodging a blow that had enough strength to punch a hole through him!

He called on his own earth fury, shoving Arthur backwards with two hands on the man's shoulders.

And then, Eames had an idea.

He kept up his earthcrafting, changing the tone a bit and focusing on Arthur.

"You don't want to beat me to a pulp, darling," Eames was saying, keeping his voice low. "You're better at this, you're the best. Let's not fight to the death."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, watching Eames with caution.

"You're gentling me," Arthur hissed, no doubt feeling Eames's efforts at calming him and soothing his anger. "I'm not a spooked horse."

Eames took a step closer, not minding their audience. "Oh, no. You're not a horse." Eames licked his lips, noticing how Arthur's eyes flicked down to his mouth and then away. "But you'd agree that humans can behave in much the same way as animals."

"We are right here!" Cobb called to them, reminding them of his presence. "I get that you two have some issues that need to be worked out, but earthcrafting isn't the answer!"

Ariadne shot a look at Cobb and then looked back at the pair. Eames was reaching out to touch Arthur, speaking softly.

"What do you mean?"

Cobb didn't look at her- he was too focused on Arthur and Eames. "Earthcrafting has many applications. You're already familiar with the extra strength your fury can offer you. Earthcrafting can lend the crafter extra stamina, can allow the crafter to run for great distances on fury-crafted roads, make the ground rise up and allow the crafter to ride it like a strange raft." Cobb coughed and shrugged a little. "And there's _this_ application of earthcrafting…it allows the crafter to influence another's basic, primal desires."

"You mean you can make someone fall in love?"

Cobb rubbed the back of his neck and blushed just a little when he actually did look at Ariadne. "A kind of love, I guess. A strong earthcrafter can drive a person mad with lust and passion." He gestured to Eames, who was very carefully laying his hand against Arthur's bound wrists.

"He's changing Arthur's anger into something he thinks he can manage."

Ariadne bit her lip, watching as the necktie fell from Arthur's wrists, freeing him. As it fell to the ground, Arthur's face went slack. But his _eyes_! Goodness, his eyes burned with want and something else…

The point man reached for Eames, who didn't flinch when Arthur got a hold of the front of his shirt, bunching up the material in his fist and dragging the other man closer. He pressed his other hand to the side of Eames's face which was already starting to darken with a clear hand-shaped bruise. Eames _did_ flinch then, but refused to move away from Arthur now that he had him so close and so calm.

"Oh, Mr. Eames," Arthur said softly. "I guess you got me this time."

Eames swallowed hard. "I do?"

"Of course. When haven't you?" Arthur pressed himself closer, unmindful of their audience, even when Yusuf poked his head out of his open-air lab.

The chemist quietly, stealthily moved to where Cobb and Ariadne were watching.

He sat down and stared at the pair, grinning to himself. "I should have brought popcorn!"

"You think this is entertaining?" Ariadne hissed, her cheeks already pink with embarrassment.

Yusuf scoffed at her, shaking his head. "You have no idea how many times I've had to sit and listen to Eames bitch and moan about _missing_ Arthur. _Loving_ Arthur. Wishing he could go and _see_ Arthur! Their weird relationship is better than what's on cable. This is an important scene!"

He shot Cobb a look. " _And_ you owe me five bucks!"

"You guys are _betting_ on your friend's hooking up?!"

Before Ariadne could follow this up with another scathing comment, the mood of their two fighters had shifted.

If Arthur had looked a little glassy-eyed when Eames started in on him, Eames's eyes were now fever-bright as Arthur had wrapped his arms around the forger.

"Poor, Eames," Arthur was saying.

"I don't feel like a poor Eames," the forger was saying, his voice a little more than a raspy whisper. "I feel very lucky, I feel very rich. Am I winning?"

Arthur smiled at Eames shook his head.

"My poor Eames, you forgot that I'm the stronger earthcrafter, didn't you?"

Eames's eyes widened briefly before Arthur manipulated him with his own earthcrafting, lulling Eames back into the lazy, pleased mindset.

"You can't out-earthcraft me, Eames."

The forger sighed, almost moaning as Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp with his nails. If the forger were a cat, he'd definitely be _purring_ for the point man.

"But you should have remembered."

Eames opened one heavy lidded eye, peeking curiously at Arthur.

"A gentleman doesn't do this sort of thing without their partner's consent."

"I give you full permission, darling."

Then Eames leaned in and kissed Arthur on the lips, as if he'd been waiting for the right chance to do it and couldn't wait anymore.

Arthur allowed it but carefully placed one hand against Eames's temple- he deepened the kiss, not caring about the people watching him, just enjoying the relay of emotions his earthcrafting of Eames and from Eames was giving him. It was good- it was _far too good_.

It took him a lot to stop, but he did. He rested his forehead against Eames's, satisfied in listening to their heavy breathing.

"That was wonderful," Eames was saying, clinging to Arthur like a limpet, not wanting to leave an inch of space between them. "Tell me we get to do that more than once?"

Arthur laughed. "Of course, Mr. Eames. But first, I need you to sleep."

Eames pulled away just enough to look Arthur in the face; Eames frowned, still a little addled and far too bright-eyed.

"What?"

Arthur called on his water fury, having kept his fingers pressed against Eames's temple and said, once again with power behind his words.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

Unable to resist his command, Eames was rendered unconscious by Arthur's water fury. Still drawing on his earth fury for strength, the point man had no trouble supporting Eames's dead weight, lowering him gently to the ground.

* * *

Ariadne watched him; Arthur was so careful with Eames. He fetched the forger's coat and folded it into a serviceable pillow for the man's head. There were lots of things she'd like to ask; she wanted to know more about this strange application of earthcrafting, she wanted to know how he'd managed to knock Eames out cold. But there was something she wanted to ask first.

"Arthur..."

The point man looked up at the sound of his name.

"Why is your wind fury named Spot?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and pointed at Cobb. "His daughter was adamant about calling my wind fury Spot. She did it for so long, that my fury took a liking to it." Arthur shrugged, keeping his hands busy by adjusting Eames's shirt collar as the man slept. "If I got to choose the name myself, I would have chosen something different. Something like Sköll or Hati."

"The wolves that chase the sun and moon in Norse mythology?"

Arthur snorted. "I don't think you have much room to talk, you named _your_ fury after Terry Pratchett's World Turtle."


	8. Chapter 8

A.N: After almost a month and half, I have finally come up with an update! I hope everyone enjoys it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or Codex Alera.

Ariadne had been busy working on her totem; always when she had a spare minute, always when she was alone. Arthur had been clear. The totem would be something small, something to keep on her person at all times, a weighted item. It couldn't be a coin.

He had suggested that after enough practice with furycraft she could use her gifts to create something singular and unique. She thought she could make her totem stronger than Arthur's red acrylic die or Eames's ironically matching poker chip.

If she had any woodcraft she could make an object or tool with hardly any effort at all. Because, as Yusuf had said, _Woodcrafting is amazing._ Just thinking of it made her smile. But if she had an affinity for that crafting there wasn't time to develop it. It was best for her to continue to hone her earthcrafting by building the mazes.

So she worked on her totem the old-fashioned way. She was carefully putting the finishing touches on her golden rook, practicing with this new elegant solution for keeping track of reality.

When she was satisfied with her work she picked up her totem, weighing it in her hand and admiring how well it fit there.

She heard a door open. Curious, she wandered through the empty warehouse, trying to find out who had come to visit.

Ariadne clenched the hand not holding her totem, directing her attention to the ground. She pushed with her mind and her crafting, sending the power out it in a pulse.

"Where are they, A'tuin?"

Her fury was in the ground, under her feet, searching the surrounding area. Each pulse of her earthcrafting fed her more information through A'tuin. Quietly, surely, she found what she was looking for.

"Thank you," she whispered to her fury, which had gone quiet and inert at her silent command. Once she got closer she could call on A'tuin again for strength to fight a burglar. But she wouldn't know for sure until she got closer.

She turned the corner, looking around and spotting Cobb opening up the PASIV on a tabletop- the spot she'd seen him at the last time she'd been the second-to-last person home. But this time Yusuf wasn't there to observe the extractor.

Cobb hadn't heard her yet, so she decided to say something and make him aware of her presence.

"Are you going under on your own?"

Cobb looked up quickly; he held the PASIV open for a second before gingerly shutting it. He had the guilty look of the kid caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.

"No, no, I was just, uh, running some experiments," Cobb waved one hand around the not-so-empty warehouse. "I didn't realize that anyone else was here."

"Yeah, I was just- I was working on my totem, actually."

Cobb immediately stepped away from the desk and PASIV, smiling and eager to see what she had worked on.

"Here, let me take look," he was saying as he reached for the golden rook.

 _You look with your eyes_ , Ariadne quickly thought, instinctively clutching her totem tighter and shaking her head.

The extractor looked pleased. "So you're learning, huh?"

"An elegant solution for keeping track of reality," Ariadne said, taking a chance to look at the totem in her hand. "Was it your idea?"

There was a short, shivery second before Cobb said something. It was plain to see that it was difficult for him, that what he was thinking about hurt. From what Arthur implied, metalcraft could sometimes be used to ward away physical pain- but what Cobb was going through couldn't be touched with such crafting.

"No, it was uh- it was Mal's actually." Then he came closer and showed her a small metal top.

According to him it was Mal's totem. Ariadne listened and wondered to herself why he was telling her exactly how it worked- more to the point, why did the two dream thieves she worked with think it necessary to reveal _what_ their totems were and _how_ they worked? Sure, instruction was important. But while Arthur only mentioned that his die was loaded, Dom was waxing eloquent on the metal top that wouldn't stop spinning in a dream.

It was clear that if it were Mal's originally, it had to be his now.

"Arthur told me she passed away," Ariadne said, trying to offer condolences and sympathy. The word 'trying' should be underlined twice and italicized. Ariadne was working on her feelings towards the memory of Cobb's wife, who had very effectively murdered her mid-dream. It was tough- sometimes Ariadne had these dark fantasies about ripping the shade apart with her earthcrafted strength.

Cobb took a moment to collect himself, nodded in response to her words, but blatantly said nothing more on the subject of his very dead wife.

"How are the mazes coming along?"

Ariadne made sure to show him what she had completed so far- three models that showed the most basic layouts of the mazes. She gestured from maze to maze, aware of the distance Cobb was putting between himself and the work. He busied himself with looking at various sketches that had been tacked to the double sided marker boards that ringed Ariadne's work space.

"Each level relates to the part of the subject's subconscious that we're trying to access. I'm making the bottom level a hospital so Fischer will bring his father." She paused and looked around, choosing a specific model and saying, "Actually, I have a question about this layout."

Cobb wasn't willing to do that. "No, no, no. Don't show me specifics. Only the dreamer should know the layouts."

"Why is that so important?" She knew. She _knew_ that answer but Cobb had to say it.

"In case one of us brings in our projections."

 _In case_ you _bring in Mal._

"We don't want them knowing details of the maze."

 _You don't want_ Mal _to know the details of the maze._

Finally Ariadne just spit it out because Cobb wouldn't.

"You mean in case you bring Mal in. You can't keep her out, can you?"

Cobb turned to her, twisting in the chair he'd posted himself at. There was a moment where it looked like he was going to argue with her. Then he changed his mind, deciding to own up to it.

"Right."

This gave Ariadne new insight as to why Cobb couldn't build anymore, why he needed her to do it for him. If _he_ knew the maze, then Mal would know it, too.

"Well," Ariadne said, "she'd sabotage the whole operation." She chanced moving closer. "Cobb, do the others know?"

"No. No, they don't." Cobb's words were clipped and short.

"You've got to warn them if it's getting worse." _Arthur knows,_ she thought to herself. _Arthur knows. But have you let him help?_

Cobb turned to her again, ready to fight this out as a bitter fire burned within. Then, she noticed his hand.

Apparently a bitter fire was also burning in his palm. It was just a flame the size of a large gumball, but there was something about it that made her shy away. It made her think of what it must have been like when man discovered fire- how dangerous and beautiful and destructive it was. And if she looked closely she could see the ever so faint, glowing outline of Cobb's tiger fire fury, just sitting at his feet and threatening to scorch its paw prints into the floor.

Ariadne called to A'tuin, not to have her tortoise try and attack the fire fury but to prepare herself to defend and run. With the strength her fury could give her, she could probably disable Cobb before he thought to incinerate her. If that didn't work she'd have to run; if she did it, keeping her feet on the ground and never missing a step, she could craft herself into enduring a long journey with little rest. She was capable of it because Arthur had been taking her on practice runs. They only went out when it was late at night, only when there weren't many people to catch sight of them racing through the quiet streets. He wanted her to have the proper muscle memory to handle the strain, to teach her how to muffle her footsteps with her crafting.

It looked like she might have to test herself…

Calling on the earth under her feet for strength, Ariadne moved into a defensive stance, her fists clenched. _Kick out his knee then run for it_.

Before Ariadne could move, Cobb looked down at the shimmering haze of his fury at his feet. It was already hissing at her. He looked at his hand, amazed to see the little ball of fire collected in his palm. Coming to his senses, Cobb directed his attention to the fireball and quenched it with a flexing of his will as he forced himself to make a fist. At the same time his tiger was dismissed, the air smelling of smoke and char.

"I need to get home," Cobb said finally, looking desperate. "That's all I care about right now."

Believing that she didn't have to be very sympathetic after she was seconds away from becoming extra-crispy, Ariadne remembered to let go of her earthcrafting and evenly asked, "Why can't you go home?"

"Because they think I killed her," the extractor said. Then he got up from his chair, stopping as he passed her to say, "Thank you."

Ariadne had to take a moment and not let her anger speak for her. She couldn't say something rude, she couldn't mention how she had been seconds away from shattering his kneecap, and she couldn't question him further. So instead she asked, "For what?"

"For not asking whether I did."

* * *

Their work continued as if their little encounter had never happened. The job was still on.

First, they had to outline their plan beyond the idea of "I will split up my father's empire."

"On the top level, we'll open up Fischer's relationship with his father, saying _I will not follow in my father's footsteps_. Then, next level down we feed him, _I will create something for myself._ Then, by the time we hit the bottom level we bring out the big guns."

"My father doesn't want me to be him," Cobb said, finishing Eames's sentence as the dreamscape shifted around them, subtly tweaked by Ariadne.

* * *

Then they had to address the issue of stability with so many dream levels.

"I think we've proven that it works now," Arthur grumbled from his position on the floor. He spent a second rubbing at his jaw. "I guess you had fun slapping me."

"It wasn't fun," Yusuf said as gathered up the line Arthur had detached from his arm after the kick landed him on the floor again. "It was scientific. I slapped you in the name of science."

Eames, who had posted himself nearby, leaning against a table littered with Yusuf's chemistry tools, waved at his darling.

"I simply laughed at your expense. Did you know that during the kick you kind of flail around? Like a cat falling off of a ledge?"

Arthur fumed on the ground but accepted the forger's help to get up. He turned to Yusuf and asked, "Can we test the compound on Eames?"

Yusuf made a show of pulling off his glasses and cleaning them, shaking his head. "I think that you've had enough fun slapping him."

Eames was too mature to do something like stick his tongue out at Arthur.

"But I don't think _I_ have," Yusuf said cheerily, patting the seat of the chair they had been using for the experiments. "Arthur's always a good test subject for the compounds, but I have always believed in being safe rather than sorry."

* * *

"Brain function in the dream will be about twenty times normal. In a dream within a dream, the effect is compounded. Its three dreams, that's ten hours times twenty-"

Eames sat up straight in his chair, shooting a look from Yusuf to Cobb then back again. "Math was never my strong subject. How much time is that?"

"It's a week, the first level down," Cobb explained, arms crossed. "Six months the second level down, and the third level-"

"That's ten years," Ariadne said, doing the math in her head. She was shocked. "Who would want to be stuck in a dream for ten years?"

"Depends on the dream," Yusuf chuckled.

Eames raised his eyebrows, looking between the chemist and architect. It didn't escape his notice that Yusuf was blushing- it was faint, but it was there! And Ariadne was looking back at him with something that appeared to be curiosity. Eames extended his watercrafter's senses and tested the waters, not blatantly listening in but catching a whisper of emotion from both. He grinned, thinking, _I very well may have a chance to tease the living hell out of Yusuf later!_

"Interesting," the forger said to himself, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable.

* * *

Long since the highly uncomfortable conversation about totems and Mal's death, Cobb made it a point to not ask Ariadne about the levels and Ariadne didn't bother him. She just watched him closely as he disappeared to use the PASIV to run _experiments_.

She would have become absorbed in that if it weren't for the level of detail and research her architecture required.

After arguing back and forth, Arthur and Eames had come to the conclusion that there had to be a better way of planting the idea.

"Okay, we've settled that during the first level we'll kidnap him," Arthur said, flipping through his Moleskine while sitting in his chair.

"Several options for the method, depending on the situation- if we want to transport him quickly, we could hijack his car, his taxi, or his bus," Eames suggested as he sat near to Arthur, peeking at the notes he made.

"That depends on if he happens to be _in_ a car, a taxi, or a bus."

"With a whole week to run around the city, we should have plenty of opportunities to get him alone."

"But how are we going to address the issue of my crafting while I'm down there- this city is nothing but metal and stone," the chemist groused to himself.

Yusuf was inside the main area of the warehouse instead of hiding out on the roof. He was playing with a box of wooden toothpicks. He picked up one and focused on it, trying to use his woodcrafting to bend the rigid toothpick into a circle- but the wood wouldn't respond to him while he was surrounded by so much metal.

He held it up, as if it would stand as proof.

Arthur became thoughtful, tilting his chair back on two legs like he really shouldn't. How was he to explain that his thought process was quicker when his feet weren't touching the ground? That he made the connections with greater speed when he considered the problems as he went for a quick flying session?

Instead of kicking at the legs of Arthur's chair, Eames thought about the problem Yusuf had presented.

"Your greatest elemental power is wood- dead or living plants, right?" Ariadne asked, trying to help him find a way around his problem. It _was_ her job to consider the gifts of others when building the levels, and since Yusuf was the first dreamer, she'd have to cater to him. "Maybe I can incorporate more wood into the dreaming environment."

She shot a look at Arthur, needing clarification. "Has that been done before? Could we build more of the structures out of wood and get away with it in Fischer's mind? Because I don't think I can get away with making an entire _car_ out of wood!"

Arthur was going to say how it had been done before. With those gifted in furycraft, it wasn't uncommon for a person's safe or other structure for hiding their secrets could be made entirely of their strongest form of furycraft- Arthur's safe, hidden away deep in the back of his mind where few would find it if they managed to get through his maze and militarized projections, was made out of a swirling gale of wind. On a practice run in Eames's mind, Arthur had stumbled upon _his_ safe, and found it to be made entirely out of a large cube of flowing water. Technically, he could have opened it with his own skills in watercrafting but had no wish to peek inside. He had known everything he wanted to know about Eames, and if he asked, he was sure that Eames would freely tell him anything else.

Ariadne's question had a very simple solution. But before Arthur could answer, Saito, of all people, beat him to it.

"Fischer wouldn't look twice at something he expected to be there- if you want wood and stone buildings, if you want ready access to elements, if you want to get Fischer to focus not only on the power of his father but the collar I wear, take him to a place where they are common."

Their client was very calmly pausing to take a sip of tea. His suit was immaculate; the shirt collar buttoned up and tie on, hiding the discipline collar that he had been forced to wear. The fact that he was drinking tea rather than curling up in a pain/pleasure haze said that he was walking the fine lines dictated by the collar's power and the command of _not_ going against Fischer's father's company.

"Hypothetically," Saito began, "if Fischer were to be taken under and placed in a dreamscape depicting Alera, it would be possible to make all of your gifts accessible. Enslavement such as mine was common in that society. It would be a way to introduce the subject and explain my role in the dream." It was clear that he was not backing out of his plan to play the tourist in order to ensure that the job was completed. Though he never said it, Arthur thought that it meant that this wasn't the first time he had hired a team to try and perform an inception on Robert Fischer- it made Arthur wonder how much time and energy it had cost him.

"And the power struggle between the two energy conglomerates could be compared to something described in the histories," Arthur agreed. "Full of dissension and plots to overthrow the aging First Lord of Alera, threatening the position of the young Princeps who should rightfully inherit the throne."

"Fischer as the Princeps, the father as the First Lord," Eames was saying, impressed with their client's work and Arthur's excellent recall of the histories he had gotten pieces of from Mal, from Cobb, and maybe through his own searching.

Saito nodded his agreement. "I'm sure Mr. Arthur's research has already shown Robert Fischer's… _interest_ in Aleran society?"

Arthur could barely hold back his snort of laughter. Interest was an understatement. "Fischer spends an inordinate amount of time and money securing Aleran histories, art, and even a recreation of a _ludus_ board."

"Yes," Saito agreed. "I have had to meet with the young man twice at his father's insistence to ensure that the discipline collar is still working properly. When we meet, we spend an hour or so playing the game. It is much like chess."

Ariadne was making her own notes, scribbling changes that would have to be made to her initial designs. All if it was easily remedied. Now she needed to confer with Arthur about the necessary aspects of Aleran society and culture she needed to know- did they build in a particular way, were their cities settled differently?

Arthur would know. Arthur _always_ knew.

There was a sound, a shuffling of footsteps that seemed to only have the purpose of making the team look up.

It was Cobb, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tugging his rolled up sleeve down with fidgety fingers.

"What have we come up with," he asked as he moved to the small kitchenette area and poured himself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee Arthur had left warming in the pot.

He sat down and waited.

Arthur took this in stride and refused to respond with ' _What kind of tone is that?'_

"Alera. We've come to the conclusion that to not inhibit our crafting and to incept Fischer with both of our ideas, we need to have the three levels not only reflect the parts of the subconscious we want but the type of environment most likely to get our ideas across."

Cobb was nodding, but he turned to Eames and asked, "Fischer planning any surgery?"

The forger shook his head. He'd done his own reconnaissance when the subject had been brought up previously. "He hasn't got any surgery scheduled, no dental, nothing."

"Wasn't he supposed to have a knee operation?"

"Nothing," Eames said again, shrugging. "Nothing that they'll put him under for, anyway. And we need at least a good ten hours."

Saito put his cup of tea down and shot a look at Cobb. "Sydney to Los Angeles. One of the longest flights in the world. He makes it every two weeks."

Cobb nodded, considering how this would work for them. "He must be flying private, then."

"Not if there were unexpected maintenance with his plane," Saito answered.

Before Cobb could say anything else, Arthur had already come up with a solution.

"It would have to be a 747."

"Why's that?"

Arthur had been busy writing something down, maybe so he wouldn't forget, when he leaned forwards a bit and said, "On a 747 the pilot's up top." He pointed upwards as if the extra emphasis was required. "The first-class cabin's in the nose, so no one would walk through," he said, making a rolling gesture with one hand. "But you'd have to buy out the entire cabin _and_ the first-class flight attendant."

Satisfied with having provided a plausible solution, Arthur waited for Cobb's reaction. He got one from Saito, instead.

The collared client looked slightly uncomfortable as he scratched at his ear and explained, "I bought the airline."

When these words were met with surprise, he added, "It seemed neater."

This made Cobb brighten up. "Well, it looks like we have our ten hours."

* * *

To give Ariadne a better understanding of the styles of architecture, of the history, of the culture, Arthur had gone and picked up the files he kept in storage. The histories, the black and white photographs of the ruins, as well as the sketches and remains of their surviving forms of art, were presented to Ariadne in a series of folders that were two inches thick.

She had promised to be gentle with them, even though they were copies of copies, because she could see how carefully Arthur treated them, too. On the copies of the histories, she could see where someone had made notes in pencil- the handwriting was firm, asking questions and drawing connections between the rough translations. In the margins there were drawings of furies and unfinished timelines.

Ariadne had already seen what Cobb's handwriting looked like. These must have belonged to Mal.

So, Ariadne treated them with care and learned everything she could about the Alerans.

It was around this time that Arthur introduced her to a new method of building models.

"This is a sand table," Arthur said as he gestured to the table he had procured for her.

She had smiled and looked at the sand before joking, "Not kitty litter?"

Arthur laughed, "No. Technically, you could use it because it's clay, but I found you real sand for this. You can create and destroy as much as you please and get a hang of the structures needed for the new levels."

* * *

She practiced.

The first level was a thriving and busy version of Alera Imperia, from which the roads all lead to the cities of the High Lords and Ladies, like the spokes of a giant wheel. She forced the roads to turn in on themselves, leading back to the ruling capital of Alera. The maze was intricate with its twisting city streets and the alleys that were dead ends. If you weren't careful you could get lost in the Crafts district, find yourself trapped in the Senate, or go in circles around the Grey Tower, Alera's prison. She included the waterfront for its quiet warehouses, so they would have a place to stash Fischer so Eames could begin planting the ideas with his forgery of Browning.

While she practiced she recited from memory the terms that Arthur wanted her to learn. Not for any real purpose, she supposed, since she wouldn't be going under, but because this was something that Arthur loved and he liked to share it.

 _First Lord, ruler of all Alera; High Lords, High Ladies, Citizens, and Steadholders. Legionares, singulares, cursors, cutters, and bloodcrows. Juris macto (trial of the fist)._

They had agreed that the second level would be something different. No real location would be given. Just the anonymity of an Aleran pleasure house. Yusuf had been shocked.

"Why can't _my_ level be a brothel?"

"Because I'm capable of keeping a clear head?" Arthur answered. "Because I almost always dream the second level?"

Eames had slipped into the conversation to add his two cents.

"Because Ariadne might think better of you if you didn't act like all you cared about is sex?"

Yusuf had blanched and Ariadne and ducked her head and pretended to not hear.

Thankfully the argument ended there.

The third level still needed a hospital- her original hospital had looked like a fortress with a special shortcut that Eames had requested. She placed it within a Legion camp, creating a large fortified hospital that could serve a fighting force of _legionares_.

She had used her earthcrafting on the sand table to show Eames the layout, the maze, and the hospital where Fischer's subconscious would place his dying father. Though he was calm and collected, even joking a little with her as she taught him the maze, Eames eyed the reproduction of a Legion camp with some worry.

Ariadne had seen Arthur and Eames leaving together, staying close but not bothering to speak. It was clear that they might speak about the third level while they were alone.

She knew that there was a problem; while watching the pair interact as they interrogated Saito, she caught Eames's comment about 'not having a chance to practice more'. And though Arthur would never say it out loud and wasn't the type to start talking about his feelings with her, she _knew_ that there was something more going on. She'd known before the practice fight on the roof that they had been in some kind of turbulent relationship and that Arthur had been left behind, somehow falling in with the Cobb's.

Ariadne also noticed how Eames hadn't bothered to use watercrafting to heal the bruise he got from Arthur. It had taken a little over a week to fade. She had heard it said enough times in conversation; the forger was the more powerful watercrafter. If she listened to Cobb, Eames was the best watercrafter, period. Just like he was the best forger.

It was strange to see such a powerful crafter not bother to use his gifts.

She tried to take her mind off of the mystery of Arthur and Eames and their relationship. Ariadne worked a little bit longer on the last level, making notes and sketching, before she finally called it a night.

It was late, almost as late as the last time she was the last one in the warehouse.

And then she thought to check.

* * *

There Cobb was, hooked up to the PASIV, sleeping in a lounge chair.

Unsupervised.

She didn't see any signs of Yusuf. She spotted the chair he had been using the last time he watched over Cobb and made a rash decision.

She knew that what she was about to do was wrong. She understood it. But, she also had to figure out what in the hell the extractor was doing.

Ariadne got in the chair and wheeled herself closer to the desk the PASIV lay open on. She reached for a line, prepped the needle, and then found a vein. She pressed the needle into her arm and leaned back in the chair, the Somnacin shooting into her bloodstream and sending her to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

A.N: Because I'm not having a great week, I thought I'd distract myself by writing another chapter of _show me your fury_ and listen to the playlist I scrapped together for it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera. I also don't own "Its Warmer In the Basement" by Cobra Starship...I just found an excuse to use the title.

Ariadne was in an old elevator. It clanked and shuddered its way up a narrow shaft. Its metal cage style door was worn. She spotted the glowing numbers as the elevator ascended from the eighth floor.

The architect peeked out between the bars and briefly saw a child's bedroom with a dollhouse centered towards the door and a planetary ceiling mobile in the corner.

Another level slowly went by and the elevator came to a stop. She spotted what appeared to be a living room of a large home- there was a lamp on low leaving the rest of the room with its pictures and furniture in comfortable shadow. A window was open, letting in more than enough light to reveal a small table and a cozy sitting area next to another window where both Cobb and Mal sat together on a couch, maybe.

"You know how to find me," Mal was saying to Cobb as he grasped her hands. "You know what you have to do."

From her angle, Ariadne could see the pair clearly; she could even see a little bit of what was outside the window behind them- it looked like a garden. She held her breath and watched.

"Do you remember the day you asked me to marry you?"

Mal reached out to Cobb and stroked at his hair as he answered, "Of course I do." Mal repeated the gesture, stroking his hair again before she touched the side of his face in just as loving a fashion.

"You said you had a dream," Mal whispered, drawing closer to her husband. Cobb was very clearly bewitched; and since she had never seen the pair together in real life, before Mal had somehow died tragically, this may very well have been the way Cobb behaved around her naturally. It made Ariadne remember Arthur saying that Mal was lovely.

"That we'd grow old together," Cobb answered, as if this was something they had said to each other frequently- better than _I love you_ , better than _I need you_. In the high-risk world of dreamshare, maybe it _did_ mean more to say _I dreamed that we'd make it to old age together_.

"And we can," Mal said softly, continuing to cup Cobb's face with her hand.

There was something about Mal's voice that made Ariadne uncomfortable; it made her want to somehow crawl out of the elevator, force herself to make the long and dangerous trip down the elevator shaft so she could escape notice.

 _This was private; this wasn't for her to see…_

And then, as if she could _hear_ Ariadne's thoughts, Mal's head quickly turned to the right and she stared at the architect trapped in the elevator. After a second, Cobb turned to look as well.

He immediately let go of his wife's hand and left her sitting there, before prowling over towards the elevator.

When he was no more than a few feet away from the elevator's cage door, Cobb said, "You shouldn't be here."

Cobb quickly yanked the cage open and stepped inside. He pressed the button for the twelfth floor several times as he waited at Ariadne's side.

"Just wanted to see what kind of tests you're doing on your own every night," Ariadne said. Her voice was flat.

Cobb pressed his fingers to his temple, as if he had a headache coming on. "This has nothing to do with you."

"This has everything to do with me. You've asked me to share dreams with you."

"Not these. These are my dreams."

They made it to the twelfth floor and Cobb opened up the elevator's cage door so he could step out onto a bright, sandy beach. Not far away, his wife and children were playing in the sand.

"Why do you do this to yourself," Ariadne asked, honestly wanting to figure out why Cobb had this need to torture himself with what he couldn't have anymore. His wife was dead, he was on the run and separated from his children. Why did he need to cause himself more pain?

"It's the only way I can still dream."

 _But why does that matter- this is crazy,_ Ariadne thought to herself. She finally said as much to Cobb.

On this beachside level, the sound of the waves crashing in the background was loud. Ariadne was sure that she could taste the salt in the air. It was too real.

"In my dreams, we're still together," Cobb said. Though they weren't close to the little family playing on the beach, as Cobb said those words, the projection of Mal looked up and met his gaze. Cobb couldn't do it- he turned his head away and then retreated inside the elevator.

He pressed another button.

Ariadne watched as their view of the beachside level was cut off as the elevator went down another level. And another and another.

"These aren't just dreams. These are memories." She turned to look at Cobb who huddled off to the side, as uncomfortable as any other person stuck in an elevator with someone they _really_ didn't want to talk to. "And you said never to use memories."

"I know I did."

The air of the elevator was stale and uncomfortable. She wanted to know more about what he was doing- she got her wish! This- this was horrifying. Cobb couldn't let go of Mal. It was almost like he was trying to…

"You're trying to keep her alive," Ariadne finally said.

"You don't understand. These are moments that I regret. They're memories that I have to change."

 _But you can't change the past, Cobb. She's still very, very dead._

Ariadne stopped herself from saying that out loud and instead looked at the array of buttons, the different levels of memories that could be accessed through Cobb's old elevator. She looked at the last one marked with a capital B. She reached out to touch it.

"Well, what's down there that you regret?" Her thumb hovered over the button.

 _Its warmer in the basement_ , she thought. If the 'family outings' level was near the top, whatever was in the basement had to be the closest to the truth. If she went down there she might learn what happened without having to deal with Cobb's evasive and confusing comments.

She felt a hand on her wrist. Cobb had moved quickly, grabbing for her hand before she had a chance to hit that button. He was so close, she could smell his aftershave.

"Listen," Cobb said, his voice level and calm, "there's only one thing you need to understand about me."

"That you'd kill for an open fire so you could use your crafting to make me agree?"

He said nothing in response to that. Then he let her go and opened the cage door of the elevator. They were back to the floor she had visited before.

She followed Cobb down a hallway; one side was decorated with hanging, framed pictures, the other was spotted with small windows, their shades open to let in the light.

"This is your house," Ariadne asked as she trailed after the extractor.

"Mine and Mal's, yes."

Ariadne was keeping her eyes open, trying to stay aware of her surroundings. She kept looking for her, but hadn't spotted Mal yet.

"Where is she?"

Cobb didn't even bother to look at her now. "She's already gone."

Together, they reached the end of the hallway, and stepped into the larger open room that had windows facing the garden. Upon closer inspection, Ariadne could see that it was a large yard with a well-cared for lawn, some flowering bushes, and a couple of trees.

And she could spot the small boy sitting out on the grass, visible beyond screen door and a large wooden deck or patio.

Dressed in a flannel shirt, this little fair haired boy was busy trying to pull something up out of the ground.

"That's my son, James. He's digging for something, maybe a worm."

Ariadne watched and wondered, thinking back to when she first discovered her crafting and her fury, though she spent more of her childhood thinking it a fantasy, and her young adult years hoping that she wasn't delusional.

Cobb looked over his shoulder at her and offered a very brief, brilliant smile. "Around this time, James had already started showing signs of his growing skills. He hasn't claimed a fury yet, but when he does, he'll be something special!"

Then, another figure walked by, startling because of how dressed down he was. It was a projection of Arthur.

His low, reassuring voice could easily be heard from their spot near the open windows.

"What's that? Something wriggly and covered in dirt?" Ariadne could hear the warmth in Arthur's voice. "That's pretty neat. You want to see something cool?"

Then, Arthur knelt and placed one hand on the ground. He began to use his earthcrafting to manipulate the soft dirt in front of them, forcing it to shift into mounds, then squares, and then a carefully defined structure that looked like a decent house for a worm.

"There," Arthur said, dusting off his hands and helping James set the worm on top of its new lodgings. "He's all set now. What should we call him? A certain somebody," Arthur said, just a little sadly, "liked to say that I don't have enough imagination. Personally, I'd probably name this worm something _boring_. I'd call him something like _Bob_."

"I like that!" James answered, his voice high in pitch and eager to prove to Arthur that he didn't think that he was boring. Never mind that he probably didn't even know how to spell it yet. Then, James started to clump up more dirt in his hands and carefully add it to the space around the little house Arthur made with his crafting.

"His name is Bob," James began, telling a story about his new earthworm friend. "And he lives in a house that you built-," James paused as he smoothed out the edges, making it look as if the house was perched upon a perilous cliff, "-on top of a _cliff!_ "

"After the collarings in Project PASIV became a threat, it was Arthur who got us out. He stuck around, protected us."

There was a shrill, child's scream of excitement. And soon, a little girl came racing over to where Arthur was still on the ground. She jumped and then, gently, sort of awkwardly hovered for a few breaths before she made a landing.

"Wow!" Arthur said, all enthusiasm. "You flew so far! One day you're going to make me eat your dust!"

The little girl smiled proudly, smoothing out the folds of her dress.

"That's Phillipa," Cobb explained. "She's a strong crafter, even though she's still so little. She can't fly yet, not really. But she can make these great, bounding _hops_!" He laughed as he watched his daughter crouch next to her little brother and look at the house made for Bob, the worm.

"Arthur helped you out, protected you, and also babysat," Ariadne couldn't help asking.

"He started out like a bodyguard, but soon we were like a little family. It was Arthur who told Mal when she had gotten pregnant- he'd said that he could sense it with his watercrafting. He always watched our backs. He even tried to help Mal with some of her crafting, said the practice would keep him sharp."

"And when everything went to hell, he followed you when you had to run away."

Cobb nodded, still looking at his little family from inside the house. Now, the trio sat and examined the dirt house, Arthur explaining how it was built.

From this angle, Ariadne noticed that they would only be able to see their backs.

"I thought about calling out to them so they'd turn and smile and I could see those beautiful faces of theirs but it's all too late," Cobb was saying, no doubt recalling the day he had to leave the children behind.

Ariadne began to take a step back.

"And then," Cobb said, "I start to panic. I realize that I'm going to regret this moment…that I need to see their faces one last time."

A woman's voice calls out for the children, asking them to come in, maybe for lunch or something. When Ariadne looked over Cobb's shoulder to see the yard again, it was empty of Arthur and the children were already gone.

"But the moment's past. And whatever I do, I can't change this moment."

Ariadne took another step back, then another.

"As I'm about to call out to them, they run away…"

She turned her back and started to get the hell away from Cobb in earnest. Thankfully, he was so wrapped up in retelling this story that she got pretty far without him knowing. She could still hear him talking as she ran down the hall, trying to get back to the elevator.

"If I'm ever gonna see their faces again, I've gotta get back home. The real world."

Ariadne got inside the elevator, slammed the cage closed and immediately pushed the button for the basement.

As the elevator descended, she past another level where a train on a track was roaring past, the wind ruffling her hair.

Finally she got to the basement level. Through the cage she could see a hotel suite in shambles. The furniture was overturned, lamps were broken, the remains of a shattered vase of flowers were on the ground.

Hesitantly, Ariadne opened up the cage and stepped onto the white carpet of the hotel room. She took a few steps forward, eyeing the room, watching the drapes flutter in the open window, hearing the sound of sirens from outside.

She stepped on a broken champagne flute, feeling it crack underneath her heel.

The noise alerted the lone figure sitting on the couch, that she had a visitor. It was Mal.

"What are you doing here," the shade in the slinky, dark dress asked.

Fear permeated every inch of Ariadne's body. She wished she could gather enough strength to call on A'tuin.

"I'm just trying to understand," Ariadne managed to stammer, finding her center and calling out to A'tuin. It was too difficult. The floor might just be a hardwood covered by carpet, leaving her nothing to draw strength through, meaning that A'tuin wouldn't be able to hear her calling for help.

"How could you understand," Mal asked as she came closer, then, began to circle the young architect like a predator hungry for her next meal. "Do you know what it is to be a lover? To be half of a whole?"

"No."

 _You're just Cobb's projection. You're just Cobb's crazy projection._

Said crazy projection finished her circle and ended where she began. Now standing in front of Ariadne again, the shade eyed her dispassionately and said, "I'll tell you a riddle."

Ariadne wished that she could listen more carefully, but she was busy thinking of a way around this. Could she change the environment enough to get away? Even if she changed something in the dream, messed with the architecture, it was still likely that Mal could kill her.

Unpleasantness and scary thoughts prevented Ariadne from appreciating a riddle about a train, how it would possibly take her far away, even if she wasn't sure it would come at all, and that somehow it was all a-okay because…

"Because you'll be together," Cobb said, finishing Mal's riddle, exiting the elevator and entering the room.

"How could you bring her here, Dom?" Mal asked, holding another broken champagne flute ready for use as a weapon.

"What is this place," Ariadne asked quickly, making the mistake of turned away from Mal.

"This is a hotel suite where we used to spend our anniversary," Cobb answered her, not taking his eyes off of the shade.

"What happened here?"

Before Ariadne could get an actual answer from Cobb, Mal lunged forwards with an aircrafter's speed. She dropped her improvised weapon as Cobb yanked Ariadne with him into the elevator, slamming the metal cage door shut on the shade of his wife.

The shade clutched at the bars and began to shake them. From her position in the furthest corner of the elevator, Ariadne could see how the bars began to flex and bend beneath Mal's grip, how close she came to ripping the damned thing off of the elevator completely!

"You promised! You promised we'd be together," the shade yelled to Cobb as she rattled the bars, yanking them back and forth with the weight of her body, weakening the metal with her crafting.

"Please, I need you to stay here just for now!"

"You said we'd be together! You said we'd grow old together!"

Finally, Cobb called on his fire fury and touched the bars she held in her hands. Ariadne couldn't see much of what he was doing, but the sudden shriek of pain and scent of burnt flesh, told Ariadne all she needed to know. That Cobb had heated the metal of the bars with his fury's help.

But at this rate, the heated metal would bend more easily- they would have to escape her before she tried to rip the doors off again.

Cobb couldn't take his eyes off of the shade, hitting any button to just get them away from the basement and his worst memory that he couldn't change.

"I'll come back for you, I promise."

If the metal had cooled, Ariadne couldn't tell. The shade reached out and grasped the metal bars, not showing any pain. But she was angry- she was so, so angry. Mal yelled and shook at the bars again as the elevator began to go up.

As they ascended, Mal looked up at Cobb like she was a lost, frightened, broken thing. They left her behind.

Then, they woke up.

* * *

Ariadne got out of her slumped position, looking around first. She wasn't still in that damned elevator. She wasn't being threatened with a gutting. She tried to get her breath back as she detached herself from the PASIV.

Cobb's eyes blinked open; he looked more tired and drained than anything. Ariadne wasn't even sure how he could put himself through that kind of torture every night. It wasn't sleep, it wasn't rest, and despite what he'd said, those weren't dreams. They were nightmares.

Ariadne leaned forwards in her chair, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. She didn't need to be scared right now, she needed Cobb to understand how _dangerous_ this was.

"Do you think you can just build a prison of memories to lock her in? Do you really think that's going to contain her?"

Cobb forced himself to sit up. But before he could say anything in response to that, more lights were flicked on in the warehouse as both Saito and Arthur entered.

"It's time," Saito announced as he walked over to where Ariadne and Cobb were still seated. "Maurice Fischer just died in Sydney."

Cobb, looking a little shocked, asked, "When's the funeral?"

"Thursday. In Los Angeles."

"Robert should accompany the body no later than Tuesday," Arthur added in. "We should move."

Cobb agreed and got to his feet, already moving to close up the PASIV and not say a word about what just happened.

Ariadne interrupted him, whispering, "Cobb, I'm coming with you."

The extractor shook his head, whispering back, "I promised Miles. No."

"The team needs someone who understands what you're struggling with."

Cobb chanced a glance over at Arthur and Saito- Arthur was busy pulling out his Moleskine and writing something down and Saito was paying far too much attention to them. Cobb made it a point to look away quickly and return his attention to Ariadne and the PASIV.

"And it doesn't have to be me," Ariadne continued whispering to Cobb, "but then you have to show Arthur what I just saw."

Cobb finished fiddling with the PASIV, clearly thinking over what Ariadne had just said. He looked over at his point man and client and said, "Get us another seat on the plane."

Then he closed the PASIV with a snap.


	10. Chapter 10

A.N: Look at me go! Two chapters in one week? I must be a mad woman!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

 _If I get on this plane and you don't honor our agreement… when we land, I go to jail for the rest of my life._

 _Complete the job en route… I make one phone call from the plane… you have no trouble getting through immigration._

That little conversation was all Cobb could think about while they boarded the 747. But as soon as Eames passed him Fischer's passport, having cleverly stolen it while making a nuisance of himself in the narrow aisle between their comfortable seats, Cobb had to stop thinking about the possibility of failure.

There was no room for failure.

That was one reason why Saito was staying out of sight, not even taking his seat on Arthur and Ariadne's side of the plane- it wasn't clear how Fischer would react if he were to spot Saito now.

Before, Arthur and Eames had argued the pros and cons of Fischer seeing Saito in first-class, but neither could come to an agreement. Saito _had_ to be on the plane if he were to join them as the tourist, he _had_ to be there to make the call for Cobb.

Saito had already warned them of Fischer's mixed feelings, how uncomfortable he was when forced to speak or look at the man he had so unfairly enslaved. It was finally agreed that it was better to spring Saito on him during the dream- that way there was a good chance Fischer might simply accept their client's presence in the dream.

For now, Saito stayed out of the way in the narrow, limited space where the flight attendant lurked, watching as she double-checked that the PASIV was safely locked away.

Cobb waited for the _fasten seat belt_ sign to go dark before making contact with Fischer.

He reached over and politely tapped Fischer's arm, getting his attention and keeping it when he revealed the passport.

"Excuse me, I think this is yours?" Cobb was hoping to pass as a polite, fellow first-class passenger. "You must have dropped it."

He passed it over to Fischer who, before he could offer thanks (if any), was faced with the pretty flight attendant who had advised to approach them when the exchange was made. Cobb was hoping that Fischer was thirsty, otherwise slipping him the sedative was going to get tricky.

"Would you gentlemen care for a drink?"

Cobb asked for water, and after a moment, Fischer asked for the same.

"Um, thank you," Fischer finally said, polite but with all the distance of a man with something else on his mind.

Cobb leaned forwards in his seat. "You know, I couldn't help but notice, but you wouldn't happen to be related to _the_ Maurice Fischer, would you?"

Fischer grew a little uncomfortable, perhaps because of the weight of grief and unresolved issues on his shoulders. He answered with a simple, "Yes, he was my father."

 _Offer your condolences- not too profuse, nothing over the top_ , Cobb thought to himself. _Just one nameless business man on the same flight, just saying what etiquette demands._

The flight attendant arrived with their drinks, serving Cobb first so he could dose Fischer's with the sedative he'd hidden from view with his hand. Once he'd finished spiking it, Cobb handed the water to Fischer.

But, before Fischer could put it down, Cobb thought that he needed a little nudge to actually take a drink- another unspoken rule of etiquette said that it would be polite to drink to a toast (especially if it was about one's dead father).

So Cobb made the toast, clinked glasses with Fischer, and watched as the man took a sip of water before turning away in his seat.

It was boring to watch their mark slowly slip into what might be sleep, but would hopefully be the sedative starting to take effect. When Cobb stood up and opened the overhead compartment, he pointedly dropped a plastic wrapped article of clothing, maybe a shirt or a coat. It fell on Fischer, who didn't move an inch. Cobb double checked; he grasped Fischer's arm and shook it vigorously.

Their mark was out cold.

His team, already watching him for the sign, stopped doing busy work or reading magazines.

They sprang into action! Saito emerged, leading the flight attendant carrying the PASIV, as the others began to roll up their sleeves and expose their forearms, ready to secure their lines.

Seats were set to a reclined position, lines of tubing trailed from the PASIV set in the center of the vague circle their chairs made. Yusuf took one last drink of the complimentary champagne in his glass before setting it aside and nodding to the flight attendant.

She took a breath and pressed the button at the PASIV's center; the machine made a hissing noise as the Somnacin flooded the IV lines and sent each team member to sleep.

* * *

"Just get it over with," Yusuf said miserably from his spot underneath a tree, forcing the branches and leaves to shift and come more closely together, shielding himself from the torrents of rain the fell from the sky. He hugged the PASIV case to his chest.

"You couldn't have peed before you went under?" Arthur asked as Yusuf hopped into their stolen coach.

"Sorry," Yusuf said as he ran a hand through his sodden hair, grimacing.

"Bit too much free champagne before takeoff, eh Yusuf?" Eames added, nudging Arthur in the side and trading a smile with him. The forger and point man were seated close together on a comfortable, cushioned seat.

"Ha, ha, bloody ha," Yusuf grumbled, leaning back against his spot in the carriage, peeking out the open windows.

The passing Aleran projections bowed their heads against the heavy rain. Cloaked and hooded, these pedestrians bustled down the fury-crafted streets, entering businesses and wine clubs just to get a short reprieve from the weather.

Wearing nondescript colors that didn't identify them as being a part of any particular noble house, the team could fit in just fine with the passing projections if they wanted to pass for laborers, craftsmen, or less affluent merchants. The point was for them not to be memorable. They had to go unnoticed.

To outside observers, Cobb was nothing more than a tired coach driver wearing a heavy brown cloak and large brimmed hat, looking for a spot to park and get out of the rain. From inside the carriage, they could hear Cobb whisper. Arthur had one hand outside the open window, his attention focused on using his windcrafting to pick up the sound of Cobb's voice and magnify it so they could hear him over the rain.

"We know that he's gonna be looking for a coach in this weather," Cobb said, his voice sounding much closer than it actually was. "Let's go and get another coach…"

He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth to urge the horses to continue forwards. Soon they were rolling at a good speed with few carriages on the road with them…until they spotted another coach!

With his feet off the ground, Cobb couldn't use this earthcrafting the way he'd like to. He couldn't call up strength from the earth and he couldn't scare the horses. His firecrafting would be null with all this rain…he had to think outside the box. Finally, it came to him!

"Great Furies," Cobb roared, as if he were just an angry coach driver stuck behind some _idiot!_ "Can't you speed it along? Some of us have important fares to transport!"

While it wasn't furycrafting, the insult worked how Cobb wanted it to.

The other driver stopped his horses, speaking reassuring words to them before slipping off his seat and hitting the ground, flatfooted and angry. Once he spotted Cobb, his mouth twisted into an ugly grin with too few teeth.

"You slive! Why don't you try to-?" said the other driver as he reached for something at his side.

Upon closer inspection, Cobb found that it was a leather sap.

The extractor opened his cloak and reached for his sword, pulling it out a few inches from its scabbard, flashing steel at the angry driver.

"Walk away," Cobb commanded, wishing he could infuse his voice with the power of his firecrafting. _Don't mess with me_ , Cobb thought instead. _I could be your worst nightmare_. _And if that doesn't work, I have someone in my coach who would be even scarier! He'd love it if you fucking mocked his dimples!_

Thankfully, the driver didn't challenge Cobb. The man skittered off, too scared to bother fighting for his honor or his means of employment.

He also dropped his leather sap into the street.

As soon as he was out of sight, Arthur and Eames jumped out of the carriage and moved to steal the one that had been abandoned. Thankfully the other driver hadn't been carrying any passengers.

Arthur softly spoke to the horses, gentling them with his earthcrafting, soothing the beasts into accepting an unfamiliar person as their handler. The point man, still hooded in a black cloak, his leather armor squeaking as it was exposed to more water, jumped onto the coach driver's seat and, once Eames was safely hidden in the carriage, drove off with a snap of the reins!

In the confusion, Ariadne appeared on the street. Looking like a waif in her sodden skirts, her hair plastered to her head, Ariadne spotted Cobb in the driver's seat and ran to the coach. As soon as she was safely inside, Cobb began driving the coach once more, trying to catch up to Arthur.

"Hey," she said, brushing at her skirts, noticing that Yusuf was sitting very quietly and pointedly _not_ looking at the amount of bare skin her Aleran costume was showing. She readjusted her skirts so they covered her legs. "You couldn't have dreamed me into pants?"

The chemist coughed, muttering and fiddling with the PASIV case he'd manifested with at the start of the dream. "I did as much research as you- the women didn't typically wear trousers…unless they were in specific trades or something."

Ariadne rolled her eyes and let the issue drop. "Have we spotted Fischer or Saito?"

The rain continued to pour down and instead of getting an answer she wanted, they almost got hit by a freight train.

* * *

Arthur didn't speak horse, but through his crafting he could get a pretty good feeling about how these animals were doing, their strength, and their temperament. These were sweet natured, tired horses.

He was almost surprised when he spotted a cloaked man waving to him from the corner, asking that he stop his coach.

It was Fischer, but he wasn't alone. Off to the side, but not too far away, was Saito.

Arthur windcrafted a message to Eames, who was using his woodcrafting to hide within the coach.

"Get ready for company, Mr. Eames."

Fischer, dressed conservatively and pretending to _not_ be a member of the royal family or the next First Lord of Alera, waited on the corner while Saito, his discipline collar visible over the neckline of his thin tunic and not hidden by his cloak, opened the door of the coach for him.

The mark appeared uncomfortable when Saito offered him a hand up into the coach. He avoided touching Saito and instead pulled himself into the carriage under his own power and seated himself.

Before he could rattle off his destination to Arthur, Eames pulled the carriage door closest to him open and then slammed it shut, dropping his woodcrafting to make it appear as if he had only just entered the coach.

Eames beat one fist against the roof of the carriage, loud enough for Arthur to hear, calling out the window to him.

"Driver, take me to the nearest gaming parlor!"

Fischer looked upon Eames like something he had found underneath one of his boots. Saito was studiously pretending to be invisible, though Eames could have sworn he caught the barest hint of a smile from their client.

"What are you doing?" Fischer demanded, looking haughty and self-entitled. He was also quite upset! And using his watercrafting, Eames was doubly certain of that!

Eames put on a sunny smile and shrugged, adjusting the damp cloak that clung too tightly to his broad shoulders. "I'm sorry, I thought it was free."

"It's not!"

"Maybe we could share?" Eames said, trying to be reasonable with the young Princeps pretending to be some High Lord's heir.

Arthur was already urging the horses to continue forwards. Despite being tired, the horses' pace quickened to a steady and enduring _clip-clop-clip-clop_ that even Fischer could hear over the sound of his argument with Eames.

"Maybe not," Fischer ground out, calling to Arthur to try and make him stop the coach. "Can you pull over and get this-?"

Eames shifted his cloak aside and grasped the wickedly sharp dagger he had sheathed at his hip.

Once Fischer saw it, he stopped moving. Eames smiled at him, shrugging a little as Arthur forced the horses to run faster. Saito remained where he was, not defending or attacking Fischer.

"Great Furies," Fischer swore to himself, leaning back in his seat. He dug at his belt and dropped a large purse bulging with coins onto the seat next to Eames. "There's five hundred in golden crowns, gold eagles, and silver bulls. The purse is worth more than that, so you might at least drop me at my stop."

Eames was about to reply. Something along the lines of, 'I'm afraid that it doesn't work that way.'

He only got through, "I'm afraid that it doesn't work-" before someone tried to shoot him full of arrows.

Eames grunted and waved one hand, using his woodcrafting to force the arrows to change their shape, playing all sorts of havoc with the archer's accuracy.

Of course, if this archer happened to be a talented woodcrafter, there wouldn't be much that Eames could do to stop every arrow shot his way.

He had a sudden spike of fear for Arthur. The point man didn't have any woodcrafting to help divert the arrows.

"Darling!"

"I'm okay," Arthur said, keeping a firm hold on the horses' reins, mastering them and forcing them to continue forwards. From his position he could spot at least two, no _three_ archers from the street.

They were reloading and aiming for the point man, pulling the strings back on their powerful war bows, ready to knock a few new holes in him.

If any of those archers were the grade of a Knight Flora, Arthur didn't have a chance in hell.

Arthur forced himself to not worry about this; the most important thing he had to do now was get them out of here alive.

He yelled to the horses, calling on his wind fury at just the right time, using a small gale force wind to knock two of the three arrows sent his way off course.

The third zipped, bent, and turned till it found an opening within the carriage. If it hit anyone, Arthur couldn't tell.

"Eames, cover him!"

Another round of arrows struck their coach as two more coaches came to block Arthur's path. More projections spilled from them ready to fight with more than just bows and arrows.

There were knives, swords, and mauls!

Inside the coach, Eames had forced Fischer to get down and cover his head. From what he could remember, Fischer's crafting abilities weren't all that great- all he could manage was some metal and earthcrafting, neither of which could help him right now.

Judging that the coast was as clear as it was going to be, Eames forced Fischer to remain as far out of the way as possible so he could force the leather curtain out of the way on the rear window and peeked out at his adversaries.

Stuck in the pouring rain, the men behind the carriage must have thought that they were safe from harm. Eames smiled to himself and called to his water fury.

"Bless Yusuf for the piss rain," Eames said as he reached his hand out and directed his fury to attack not one man, but _all of them._

He felt his senses extend outward through the falling rain, to where it collected in the streets in a fine sheet. At his urging, his fury went through the water, spreading out until there was enough for what Eames intended…and then, she rose up like a wave directed by the forward thrust of Eames's hand. The men were surprised by the sudden movement of the water, but they were more surprised when the water that splashed onto them; that the water that got into their eyes and their mouths didn't just drip away, but clung there like glue. His fury was in the water, forcing it deep into their lungs. Eames watched in satisfaction as the men clawed at their faces, at the frothing water covering their mouths and blinding their eyes.

Soon the men collapsed, writhing, twitching and suffocating next to the weapons they let drop to the ground. Their emotions were horrific; desperate, silent screams of pain and fear reached Eames through the bond he shared with his fury. Thankfully he had enough metalcrafting to stand up to such an assault without curling up into the fetal position so he could rock and cry. Other watercrafters he'd run into during his time with the military hadn't been so lucky once disaster struck.

The men blacked out and then soon after, they died.

Releasing a deep breath and drawing another in, just for the pleasure of it, Eames released the crafting and called his fury back to him.

* * *

The freight train skidded by, hitting projections, hitting coaches, and making a very big mess.

It was blocking their path.

"That wasn't in the design," Ariadne said, looking out the open carriage window in shock.

Yusuf was huddled up alongside her, holding onto the PASIV with a tight grip. He was also looking out the window.

"Its- that's a bloody train!"

Cobb silently stared at it as it went past them.

"Cobb!" Ariadne called to him. "Cobb!"

* * *

Arthur must have found a way around his obstacle- they were moving fast down the street, taking swift turns, running as if malevolent furies were chasing them!

Eames got back into a seated position and caught the sound of Arthur's voice, projected by a windcrafting.

"Are you alright?"

Eames nodded and said, "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm okay." He checked on Fischer, who was still curled up on the floor of the coach, probably eyeing all the sharp arrow heads stuck through the wooden body of the coach that he had narrowly avoided getting hit by or accidentally getting slammed into during the rough ride.

"Fischer's okay, unless he gets-," Eames paused, thinking about it. "Would we call it _coach sick?_ Or _carriage sick?_ "

"Saito?" Arthur asked next, ignoring Eames's question.

Eames looked over to where Saito had been sitting, crouched as well as he could to protect himself. The forger's eyes widened once he caught sight of the blood staining Saito's shirt, his chest.

There was an arrow sticking out of his chest and Saito was clutching at it with one hand, his breathing labored and brow sticky with sweat.

"Oh no," Eames said to himself.

* * *

They got to the waterfront and made it safely to their warehouse.

Eames jumped out and forced the large door open, allowing more than enough space for the carriages to enter.

Cobb hopped off of his driver's seat and immediately went to Arthur's coach.

"Get Fischer into the back room now," Cobb was shouting, barely noticing how Yusuf trailed after him, helping him relocate the mark. It appeared that Eames managed to cover Fischer's head with a sack. "Get him in the back room. Move!"

Arthur jumped from his spot on the coach, ripping the dark hood off of his head.

"What in the hell happened?" He forced the door to the other carriage open and dragged Saito outside of it, trying to not touch the wound or the arrow sticking out of the man's chest.

"Has he been-," Cobb stopped himself from saying something stupid. He took a deep breath and rephrased himself. "He's been shot." He turned to Arthur for his professional opinion as a watercrafter. "Is he dying?"

Arthur was pressing his fingers as close to the wound as he could, hearing how Saito groaned in pain and seeing the blood covering his fingers like garish paint.

Eyes now closed, Arthur used his fury to examine Saito's injury. He bit his lip and shook his head. "I don't know."

Cobb swore, "Jesus Christ."

Arthur helped Saito lay down on the ground- he was still searching for something… there was something strange about this wound.

"Where were you?" He asked Cobb. "What happened to you?"

Cobb forced himself to his feet, ripping the hat off his head and dropping it to the ground so he could run his fingers through his hair.

"Blocked by a freight train," was all the extractor said.

Perplexed, Arthur's eyes snapped open and he shot a look at Ariadne. "Why would you put a train crossing in a downtown intersection?" He shook his head. "Why would you put a train crossing in a dreamscape that doesn't have trains?!"

Ariadne got out of Cobb's coach and defiantly said, "I didn't."

"Where did it come from?" Arthur asked, relentless.

Cobb's proverbial hackles rose up at Arthur's tone, at his persistence. "Well, let me ask you a question! Why the hell were we ambushed, huh? Those were not normal projections. They'd been trained, for God's sakes!"

"You're right," Arthur agreed.

"But how could they've been trained?" Ariadne asked, shocked and still rattled by all the violence she'd seen so far.

Still kneeling on the ground next to Saito, Arthur began to explain for her. "Fischer's had an extractor teach his subconscious to defend itself. He's militarized."

Now Arthur looked up at Cobb, gesturing with one hand, a wordless _mea culpa._ "It should have shown in the research. I'm sorry."

"Why the hell didn't it?" Cobb shouted down at the still kneeling point man.

"Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Cobb shouted again. "This was your job, goddamn it! This was your responsibility!" As Arthur stood up, ready to face Cobb, the extractor pointed his finger in Arthur's face and continued to shout. "You were meant to check Fischer's background thoroughly! We are not prepared for this type of violence!"

Cobb began to march away and Arthur followed. His frown of annoyance at being publicly upbraided swiftly changed to a look of anger.

"We have dealt with sub-security before! We'll be a little more careful and we're gonna be fine! And, in case you didn't notice? Furycrafting isn't all that common! So far we haven't seen _any_ projections capable of furycraft!"

Yusuf was running along, Eames at his heels. The forger was pulling out his dagger, ready and willing to be the one to do the mercy killing. Neither of the arguing men had noticed him yet.

"This was not a part of the plan! He's dying!"

"Well put him out of his misery then," Eames said, getting ready to kneel before the still living but horribly wounded Saito and to do what was fair to him. He already had the dagger free from its sheath.

When Cobb spotted it he crowded the forger against one of the carriages and forced him to drop the blade, saying, "No, don't do that! Don't do that!"

"Cobb, hey, hey!" Eames said trying to infuse his voice with the earthcrafting Cobb clearly needed to come down from his completely overblown fit. And after the extractor was calm, Eames kind of wanted to hurt him for being so cruel to Arthur. Arthur, who does everything for him. Arthur, who was willing to chase him around the globe when the extractor's life went to pieces!

"Saito is in agony and I'm waking him up!"

 _Best argument for the situation, kind of hard to be against it unless you're crazy like Cobb_ , Eames thought to himself.

Breathing heavily and maybe getting some of the earthcrafting Eames had thrown his way, Cobb became less angry. When he spoke next, he almost sounded reasonable. It was a shame because he still wasn't making sense. They always woke up in a dream when they died. It was like the sky being blue and the grass being green. "No, it won't wake him up," Cobb explained.

Before Eames could make his argument, Yusuf was shaking his head. "Not from this, Eames. We're too heavily sedated to wake up that way."

It took a minor flexing of Eames's metalcrafting; Cobb may have knocked away his dagger, but that didn't mean Eames wasn't carrying another on his person. He pressed his fingers against the throwing knife secured to his arm, pressing down on the metal beneath his cloak and heavy shirt so he could enjoy that cool and calm space of thinking where he could push away emotion and fear and worry to think about something more important- like choking Cobb with Fischer's purse strings.

Then he let it go.

"Right. So what happens when we die?"

"We drop into Limbo."

If Arthur had been calling on his metalcrafting for calm, too, he let it go when he heard those words. "Are you serious?" Arthur demanded looking and sounding like he might want to join Eames's 'let's kill Cobb' party.

"Limbo?" Ariadne asked, trying not to freak out, but not doing so well. "We better not be talking about that stupid dance!"

Arthur almost smiled at her very lame joke. "It's unconstructed dream space."

"What the hell is down there?" She asked, looking from Arthur to Cobb.

"It's just raw, infinite subconscious," Arthur said, glaring daggers into Cobb's back. "Nothing is down there, except for what might have been left behind by anyone sharing the dream who's been trapped there before. Which, in our case, is just _you_."

Arthur would have said something else, but stopped himself. He took a deep, calming breath and turned to Eames.

"Help me carry Saito to upstairs, I need to see how much damage has been done."

Eames nodded shortly, looking like he would really like to say something to Cobb, but stopped himself. There was always later. And if they all died on the first level, they'd have all that unconstructed dream space and infinite amounts of time to share their feelings with Cobb.


	11. Chapter 11

A.N: Just racing along, trying to finish this story before my next semester starts and my life becomes nothing but sadness and aggravation. I'm ashamed of how long this chapter is, and how much dialogue I threw in. But I wanted to get them to the second level this week!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. I also don't own Codex Alera.

Eames got Saito upstairs, carrying him with Yusuf's help; it was an awkward trip spent carefully adjusting Saito's weight between them as they made the climb, Arthur following after them closely.

When they made it to the upstairs level of the warehouse, Ariadne helped them clear off the only flat surface; a weathered table that looked like it must have been used for a similar purpose at least a few times.

Cobb waited and watched them prepare Saito by stripping away his tunic, leaving their client half-clothed.

Arthur gently pushed the others away, but Eames stayed close to Arthur's elbow as he began to examine Saito more carefully.

"Give me more light," Arthur ordered. "I'll need a basin!"

"Not a tub?" Ariadne asked when she came back with a basin that she had rinsed and refilled with clean rainwater. Arthur shook his head and gestured for the basin to be placed on the table next to Saito's body.

"There's not enough time for that."

Cobb fetched a few candles and a furylamp he had spotted in the corner. He pressed his fingers against the dry candle wicks, calling to his fury to make them spark and catch fire. He spoke to the furylamp in an authoritative tone, commanding the furies within the lamp to work and give him light.

He offered these things to Arthur who accepted them with a nod but said nothing else.

In Arthur's stead, Yusuf took the sources of light away from Cobb and found places for the candles and held the furylamp up for the point man, illuminating Saito's wound.

Once again, Arthur pressed his hand against Saito's chest, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on it or jostling the arrow.

He frowned and touched the arrow still protruding from Saito's chest. Before he could ask, Eames gently touched Arthur's shoulder, tapping himself in so he could do what Arthur couldn't.

"For the most part-" Arthur said, eyes still closed as he took a closer look at the wound with his fury's assistance, "- this arrow hasn't pierced any vital organs. It can be removed, but you must be careful."

Eames nodded and touched the arrow, calling on his woodcrafting so he could carefully remove it without doing anymore damage to Saito. The forger was examining the bloodstained arrow, satisfied that it came out in one piece. Even the steel arrowhead was intact.

"Don't you dare touch that," Arthur said softly, as if he'd been able to _feel_ Eames's fingers twitching while he examined the arrowhead. Arthur's frown deepened. "My fury is doing patchwork, healing severed veins, and attempting to restore tissue." He sighed. "But I don't think it's going to be enough."

"What do you mean?" Cobb said, already sounding like he was going to try and yell at Arthur again. Eames shot him a warning look and was satisfied when the man stopped short.

"I mean that this arrow was poisoned- dispose of it now, Mr. Eames. I'll barely be able to handle Saito's healing, I don't think I can take the strain of another."

Eames did as Arthur asked.

"Is it what I think it is, darling?"

Arthur opened his eyes, looked at the forger, and nodded solemnly. "Garic-oil poisoning."

"But what's that?" Ariadne asked, bringing them clean towels and setting them next to the basin of water.

"Weapon merchants preserve their weapons using an oil mixture that contains a tincture made from garic-oil. If the oil turns it can become very poisonous," Arthur said. He reached for a towel, dipped it in the basin, and then rung it out. He took the damp towel and mopped up the blood smeared across Saito's chest, carefully cleaning the wound and forcing himself not to react to Saito's moans of pain.

"If it's treated quickly, it can be handled. But if it sits for longer than an hour the rot can get into the blood. Once it's in the blood it can be spread throughout the entire body for as long as the heart beats. It's an ugly, painful death. He will become feverish, disoriented, and experience a great deal of pain before he finally looses consciousness and dies. And because of how heavily sedated we are, Saito will drop into Limbo."

No one said a damned thing in response to that.

"So, you knew about these risks and you didn't tell us?" Arthur asked, clearly speaking to Cobb but not sparing him a glance.

"There weren't meant to be any risks. I didn't know that we'd be dealing with a bunch of bloodcrows and cutters armed with poisoned arrows!"

Arthur disposed of the bloody towel and examined the wound again. After a second, he leaned forwards and did what any good surgeon would- he smelled the wound, still frowning to himself.

"You had no right," Arthur said as he pulled away. "Now I've got no choice but to try and heal Saito. The garic-oil is already poisoning his blood."

"This was the only way to go three layers deep," Cobb argued, watching as Arthur began to strip off his cloak so his hands and arms would be free.

"Here's a chair," Yusuf said, dragging an old and rickety wooden chair to the table so Arthur would be able to sit close to Saito.

Eames hadn't moved from Arthur's side.

"You can't do this."

Arthur ignored him.

"I mean it!" the forger persisted, hating himself for how desperate he was beginning to sound.

"I've read about the procedures to heal garic-oil poisoning, Eames."

"But you've never practiced them, either!"

Arthur sighed and reached for a neat coil of rope. "You know the drill, Eames. I'm the one who can watercraft right now. If Saito is going to survive the next level, I have to try."

"No!" Eames hissed. "We go any deeper, we just raise the stakes. I'm sitting this one out and so should you!"

The point man shook his head. "Not gonna work, Eames."

"Ten hours of flight time is a week on this level," Cobb added. "That means each and every one of us will be killed."

The forger glared at Cobb. "Did I ask? Did I ask you about that?"

Cobb raised his hands in surrender and pointedly shut the hell up.

Arthur was using the rope to tie his and Saito's hands together. When he was sure the knot was tight, he turned to Eames.

"Keep watch over us; if either my or Saito's heart rate takes a sudden drop I'll need to you pull me out of my crafting."

Eames bit his lip, the words ' _what if I did it instead?'_ were on the very tip of his tongue. He had no more experience in healing a garic-oil poisoning than Arthur did, but he was still the stronger watercrafter…

But just thinking of undertaking another healing made Eames feel a sick sense of shame, fear, and failure. He could still swear that he felt the blood welling up beneath his hands, watching the light fade from his doomed patient's eyes. Eames shook his head and forced the memory away.

With Arthur's watercrafting senses extended so wide, it was no wonder that he caught Eames's emotions.

"Cut it out," Arthur said, concerned for the forger but needing to focus on Saito. "Stop thinking about it and just do as I've asked, okay? I promise you, we'll have time to work this out later, but right now I need you be here for me."

Eames's back stiffened and he finally nodded to Arthur, grasping the point man's free hand while he laid his other hand on Saito's leg so he could keep track of their vitals with his fury's help.

Arthur's face softened and he smiled for him before descending into a healing few had been able to master.

* * *

Arthur slumped forwards in his chair, resting his forehead against the table. He didn't move.

"Is-," Ariadne swallowed hard. "Is he going to be okay?"

Cobb had left the upstairs level to take a breather and Yusuf had slipped away to double-check the PASIV he'd manifested with at the start of the dream.

His own watercrafting senses extended, Eames knew that the others were gone and shrugged.

"He's got a decent chance. Caught it early," Eames said carefully.

"But it's dangerous to do, right?"

"Very," Eames said, his eyes slipping closed as he appeared to try and match the point man's breathing so they were in sync, like always. "He must attack the main site of the infection and break it into smaller pieces so it can be spread out through the body via the bloodstream, giving Saito's immune system a better chance of fighting it."

He took another breath, focusing on Arthur's heartbeat and Saito's, too.

"But he won't be able to cure Saito. We don't have enough time to try and free Saito from the infection completely."

"How long does it take?"

Eames shrugged. "According to the histories we have read, the method of treatment Arthur will be attempting took well over twenty days," he snorted, not able to see Ariadne's look of shock, but maybe he could sense her surprise, "if this had happened on the second level, maybe Arthur could have managed it. But right now, all he can do is try to slow it down…"

Ariadne let herself lean against a few dusty crates that had been left in this room.

"What's the rope for," she asked, indicating the rope tied around Arthur's wrist and Saito's, keeping their hands close.

"A tactic to make sure the crafter doesn't break the crafting due to physical exhaustion," Eames answered, "Arthur has to put himself into something of a trance-like state to even try to make a dent in this. It requires lots of visualization, lots of mental effort."

"So much that he's using you as an anchor."

Eames turned his head just enough; he winked at her and sent a smile her way. "Yes, I'm the anchor. As wrapped up as he is in the healing, he can still feel my heartbeat and my presence. I'm grounding him and providing a way out. He just has to grab for the metaphorical rope and let me save him."

Then Eames frowned, his eyes closing once more as he concentrated.

"What's wrong?" Ariadne asked softly. She felt particularly useless in this situation, but she didn't want to leave them alone…

Whatever it was, Eames's expression smoothed out, the worry drifting away. "It's fine. Arthur was experiencing some difficulties, but I think he has it straightened out now." He cleared his throat and, since his eyes were still closed, used his crafting to catch the trembling edge of her nervousness and agitation.

"Calm down," he advised her. "A watched pot never boils and worrying at a watercrafter's side doesn't make the flesh heal any faster. Take a break. If you could find some food, I would be grateful because when Arthur finishes he's going to be ravenous and if Saito's conscious he'll need to eat something, too."

Appreciating the task she could handle, she went in search of Yusuf, so she could secure the things Eames suggested. His exact words were _plenty of meat and lots of water_.

* * *

Though Yusuf had mentioned not going down into dreams very often, it appeared that he was still capable of being thorough and prepared when he was dreaming a level.

The warehouse hadn't been prepared with anything that even passed as a kitchen, but Yusuf showed her a cabinet filled with food and two objects he called _coldstones_.

"You'd be interested in how these are made," Yusuf had said as he dreamed up a platter and started loading it with meats, cheeses, and fruits. "It's a fury-crafted object that can keep food and drink cold for months at a time without the use of electricity. Obviously during this time they didn't _have_ electricity, so they used what they could lay hands on. They used fire furies."

Ariadne had frowned as she helped him carry the platter of food and the jug of fresh water upstairs. "Why fire furies?"

"Hmm, fire furies can do more than just burn things. Firecrafting is all about arranging heat, so moving heat from one source to another is an advanced application for this type of furycrafting. But you should see what happens when one of these coldstones gets smashed. The fire furies trapped within it break free and suck up every little bit of heat around them!"

Ariadne found this to be interesting, but she knew that Yusuf was trying very hard not to bring more attention to the role he had played in getting them in this mess. It was a small role, sure. He had already planned to use sedation with the compound, but must have increased the amount because of what Cobb had said.

That he knew inception was possible. That he had been to Limbo.

This wasn't an argument Ariadne was willing to have. Besides, what was the point?

Ariadne was also pretty sure that Arthur might have more to say about it when he finished trying to heal Saito.

"Look," Yusuf said before they got to the very top of the stairs and the closed door to their improvised healing room, "I- I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"It would probably be better if you apologized to everyone, not just me."

"But I think I need to apologize to you first."

Ariadne let her raised eyebrow and dubious expression speak for itself.

"Because…this now has the potential to ruin your life."

Ariadne wasn't going to mention how all of their lives would be ruined if they died in the dream and ended up in Limbo. Cobb would never see his kids, Saito would be collared forever, Fischer would never get over his apparent daddy issues, and Arthur and Eames would never, ever get to be together in real life (which seemed to be the saddest thing considering that even if they did create a life together down in Limbo it would be a lie, it would have no substance).

For someone who hadn't wanted to be a dreamer at all, Yusuf wasn't complaining about the threat Limbo represented to _him._

And then there was her, Ariadne. Yusuf would probably mention her being too young to have to live out her life in Limbo.

But she couldn't think of that right now. She had to move forwards, like she was sure that Cobb was going to demand they do. It all hinged upon how Arthur was, how Saito was, and then, what Eames learned when he spoke to Fischer as Browning.

"I'll make you a deal," Ariadne said.

"What?"

"I'll make you a deal, but I'm only offering it once, okay?"

Yusuf nodded.

"If we make it out of this alive, and I mean it, 100% living and breathing in the waking world, you can apologize to me properly."

When he was about to speak, she cut him off.

"No. I don't want to hear how sorry you are now. We don't have time. But later... we'll have time later. Especially if Arthur doesn't murder you."

"Or if Eames doesn't team up with Arthur to murder me."

Ariadne nodded again, businesslike. "Same difference. Both of them have every right to be mad at you."

And before either could say anything more, Eames called to them, perfectly audible through the closed door.

"If the strange courtship dance of the chemist and architect is done for now, could you please bring the food in?"

Ariadne shot a look at Yusuf and attempted to assess the situation.

The man was, once again, blushing just a bit at what Eames was implying.

She couldn't hold back a smile at the sight of it. It was kind of sweet, but now wasn't the time.

* * *

"I don't think you should give him the time of day," Arthur was telling Ariadne between bites of chilled ("-but definitely fully-cooked", Yusuf had assured them) ham.

"I'm sitting right here," Yusuf said, waving from his spot on top of a crate, his improvised seat.

"I know, Yusuf, but you've got to appreciate the parallel," Eames said, refilling Arthur's plate while the point man paused to take a long drink of water. "I used to come to you all the time and we'd have our chats about Arthur. Now that you've expressed your interest in Ariadne, we can start!" Eames smiled at Yusuf, an evil glint in his eyes. "I think she's much too pretty for you."

Ariadne was surprised (and a little flattered) but shook her head. She understood what was happening. They were trying to restore some sense of equilibrium. If the worst of it was going to be teasing, Ariadne would take it.

And then Cobb came in and asked after Saito.

Ashen faced but restoring himself at an admirable rate, Arthur shot Cobb a look and said, "He's stable. He drank a little." Arthur frowned, looking over to where Saito still lay on the table, still breathing and not bleeding. "But I couldn't stop the infection at its source…he'll last a little longer now, but the prognosis isn't good."

Cobb looked like he was biting his tongue.

Arthur shook his head and looked from Cobb to Yusuf. "You knew about this all along and you went along with it?" Arthur asked the chemist seated on the crate.

"I trusted him," Yusuf said, pointing at Cobb.

"You trusted him? When? When he promised you half his share?"

"No. His whole share. He'd said that he'd done it before!"

Arthur became incensed, turning to face Cobb once more. "Oh he said he'd done it before? What, with Mal? Because that worked so good?"

"I did what I had to do to get back to my children!"

Eames stood at Arthur's side, crossing his arms over his chest and eying the extractor carefully.

"There's something I've wanted to do for awhile…darling, are you up for a truthfinding?"

Arthur frowned and looked at Cobb, no doubt weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he nodded.

Cobb's eyes widened and he tried to turn away, but there wasn't anyone faster than Arthur.

The point man first grabbed Cobb's weapon hand, holding his wrist in a crushing grip without the benefit of earthcrafting. Cobb winced in pain and was about to speak when Eames came up behind him and grasped his shoulders, forcing him to stay in one place and not dare to call on his fire fury.

"Oh, no," Eames said to him, soft and gentle. "I can hear that thought and feel that ugly little emotion. You're scared and you're angry and you're desperate. Not stupid, though. Because I'm sure you know, even without truthfinding, that I'm completely honest when I say that I'll break you in half if you try to burn Arthur up."

"Arthur?" Cobb asked, not moving under Eames's hold.

The point man held his gaze for a moment before looking at Eames and nodding once. "It checks out, Cobb. He'd snap you like a toothpick. Now I want you to be honest with me. You know that I loved her too, Cobb. You know that I love your children. That I've done so much to try and get you back to them. Answer my questions and we'll continue. Try and regain my trust."

Eames sighed, tightening his grip on Cobb's shoulders. "Be a little more forceful, darling. I'm sensing some resistance."

"Thank you, Mr. Eames."

Arthur returned his attention to Cobb. "We'll make this quick because we now have a very big mess to clean up, don't we Cobb? And, you know the rules; a yes or no answer is fine."

"Yes," Cobb answered, sullen and resigned.

"Good. Have you completed a job like this, an inception, under such a high level of sedation?"

"Yes, it offers greater stability for the levels."

"And you learned this with Mal?"

Cobb flinched and swallowed hard, refusing to break eye contact with Arthur. "…Yes."

"That was a close one, darling! Dig a little deeper."

Arthur nodded and continued. "This must have been very dangerous. Did you know that?"

Eames hummed and looked over Cobb's shoulder at Arthur. "Guilt. Lots of it, darling."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, drawling, "Really? And here I was thinking he's suffering from heartburn…"

Cobb cursed. "Fuck, I get it! I'm sorry, Arthur! Yes, I feel guilty over what happened with Mal, but it doesn't change the fact that I know what I'm doing here! I promise you, if we just stand here making a watercrafter-sandwich for much longer, our window of opportunity is going to get narrower and narrower!"

Arthur looked at Eames and asked, "What do you think?"

The forger shrugged. "He comes off as honest. He _is_ telling the truth. Doesn't make me like this any better, but we've done all we can. Kiss and make up so you can prime Fischer for me." Eames let go of Cobb, giving him a pointed nudge forwards.

The extractor stumbled forwards a little, leaning closer to the point man than he wanted to. He shuffled back a few steps and Arthur let go of his wrist.

"I wanted to say," Cobb began, shooting a look over his shoulder at his watching team and then returning his attention to Arthur. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blamed you for Fischer's being militarized." Cobb shook his head. "When we make it out of this, I hope that you'll still want to be friends…otherwise, I don't know how I'm going to explain it to the kids."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You slick bastard. You can't con me into forgiving you for the children!"

But Cobb had found Arthur's pressure point.

"Phillipa's gonna need flying lessons sooner or later, Arthur. And you _know_ she'll want you to teach her."

"I hate you," Arthur growled.

Cobb clapped Arthur on the shoulder and said, "Come on. Let's go and shake him up."

* * *

They had left Fischer in the back room, tied up with rope, and hooded.

Cobb ripped the sack off of Fischer's head, leaving the young Princeps blinking up at them for a second before his face became a cool, bored mask.

"I'm insured against kidnapping for up to ten million. This should be very simple."

"Shut up! It won't be," Cobb assured Fischer. He had made certain to bring a flame with him to this room- it may have just been a single candle sitting on a nearby ledge, but it would be enough for Cobb to focus on and stir up Fischer's emotions with.

"In the First Lord's chambers, just below the bookshelves, is his personal safe. We need the combination," Arthur said, his voice hard edged and sharp as a knife.

Fischer sighed. "I don't know any safe."

Cobb leaned closer, calling upon his firecrafting, infusing his voice with it. With his crafting working to make Fischer more open to suggestion, open to _fear_ , it was possible to lead him to an idea without much work. Even as he spoke, he did so with the single-minded thought of _doubt yourself, Fischer_.

"That doesn't mean you don't know the combination," Cobb said as he crouched before the bound mark. "Tell us what it is."

"I don't know," Fischer said, sounding very sure of himself.

 _It's okay_ , Cobb thought to himself. _It just needs to build. Let's give him more fuel._

Cobb forced himself to his feet and stomped away, allowing Arthur to take control while he went to check in with Eames.

"We have it on good authority you do know," Arthur said, looking for flares of emotion that he could exploit.

"Yeah?" Fischer asked, once again, trying to sound bored, trying to sound unimpressed. "Whose authority?"

A very fine, very thin thread of _curiosity_ wove it's way around Fischer.

* * *

"Don't sniff the damned purse, Yusuf," Eames was saying as he looked at his reflection in the mirrors set up in the corner. Several Eames's stared back at him.

"He wants us to believe that this purse cost five hundred in Aleran currency?"

Eames looked over at Yusuf and asked, "What else is inside it?"

Yusuf looked inside the heavy purse. "Coins. More coins. Some more coins. And-," Yusuf said, playing it out until Eames told him to shut up.

"We get it. The man is rich. Is there anything else in there?"

"I was getting to that bit but you interrupted me," the chemist said with a sniff of indignation. "It's a picture."

"Like a photograph?"

Yusuf passed it to him. "Not in Alera. This is an actual _miniature painting_."

And it was. Eames held it carefully in two fingers, feeling rather ridiculous- the detail of the thing was amazing and it was smaller than the palm of his hand. It was most likely a recreation of some real photo of Fischer's; something that he cherished or clung to when he thought of his father.

It was a scene of the father and son playing with a...pinwheel? It was strange that the image hadn't tried to fit itself in with the world Fischer had found himself dreaming of, considering that he had done so with everything else.

It meant that this painting, this reference to a real photo of Fischer's, was important.

Cobb came in, probably to check the progress on the forgery. Eames passed him the delicate painting.

"Useful?"

Cobb looked at it carefully, before saying, "Maybe." He changed gears and looked at Eames as he sat in front of the mirrors, preparing his forgery.

"You're on. You've got an hour."

"An hour?" Eames repeated, looking at Cobb. From the mirror several of Eames's rebounding reflections had already taken the form of Browning, a startling effect. Cobb kept his eyes on the Eames in front of him, so he wouldn't get a headache. "I was supposed to have all night to crack this."

"And Saito wasn't supposed to be shot in the chest with a poisoned arrow. You've got one hour, now get us something useful, please."

Between one second and the next, Eames had fiddled with something in his pocket, his Browning reflections doing the same before Eames _became_ Browning. He turned towards the door and screamed like it was being ripped from the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Robert Fischer heard the screams, the bellowing cries of pain.

"What's that?

"Good authority," Arthur answered with ease.

The screams continued. Fischer became visibly perturbed- he began to sweat and fidget and show every sign of distress Arthur knew of. It was clear that Fischer could recognize the voice.

"Uncle Peter," Fischer said to himself, beginning to make more abortive movements as he kept trying to do things like wipe the sweat off his face, but couldn't because of the rope binding his hands and arms. He was close to begging. "Just make them stop."

The screams and bellows of pain went on and Fischer flinched again.

"The combination," Arthur demanded.

"I don't know it," Fischer answered, repeating himself in the hopes that maybe _this_ time his captor would believe him.

"Why does Lord Browning say you do?"

Fischer looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I don't know. Just let me talk to him and I'll find out."

 _Good_ , Arthur thought. _He's bargaining because he believes he has something to lose now._

Before Fischer could offer more, Cobb nearly broke open the door to the backroom, kicking Eames forging Browning through it. He forced Eames to the ground, the man's hands already tied behind his back with rope.

"You have one hour," Cobb yelled. "Start talking!"

* * *

"You alright? You okay?" Fischer was asking, trying to scoot himself closer to Eames as Browning.

Eames did his best to look tired, beaten, and in pain. He took great breaths of air with each exhalation ending in a pained groan.

"Those bastards have had at me for two days!" Eames spat in Browning's voice, certain that he looked just the right amount of fearful and hopeless in his stained and ripped silk robes, done in the colors of his house. Eames watched Fischer out of the corner of his eye and hoped that something would kick in for him; firing mirror neurons that would encourage Fischer to do as his uncle was doing and divulge information.

"They have someone with access to your father's chambers and they're trying to open his safe."

Fischer nodded.

"They thought I'd know the combination, but I don't know it."

"Yeah, well, neither do I, so-" Fischer replied.

Eames turned to look at him in shock and disbelief. "What? Maurice told me that when he passed, you were the only one able to open it."

Fischer continued to deny his knowledge of any combination to a safe.

This would be the tricky part…

"Maybe he did," Eames said, rolling one shoulder as well as he could in a shrug since his hands were bound behind his back. He was almost tempted to loosen his bindings with his woodcrafting but didn't want Fischer to notice and try to plan an escape. Eames continued along the theme of special numbers with greater meaning, something that may have referenced something they shared together.

Fischer laughed bitterly at his words. "We didn't have very many meaningful experiences together."

 _This is probably a long shot_ , Eames thought as he considered Fischer's history.

"Perhaps after your mother died."

And then, Eames learned exactly how _bad_ Fischer's relationship was with his father. Trying to keep the look of astonishment off of his (and Browning's) face, Eames soldiered on and learned as much as he could.

* * *

Cobb was back upstairs, looking in on Saito, who was being watched by Ariadne.

"How's he doing?"

Ariadne looked up from where she had been examining the wound- what she knew of First Aid wasn't of much value, but the least she could do was put a fresh bandage on the wound and keep an eye out for increased redness or the signs of the infection spreading.

"He's in a lot of pain."

The collar Saito still wore, even in the dream, was glinting in the light as he leaned his head back and grit his teeth in pain.

"When we get down to the lower levels the pain will be less intense," Cobb said, not sure who he was trying to reassure.

It was clear that Ariadne wasn't reassured at all.

"And if he dies?"

Cobb gave her the worst-case scenario. Facing the threat of waking up with his mind _completely gone_ gave Saito just enough strength to speak.

"Cobb," Satio said. "I'll still honor the arrangement."

"I appreciate that, Saito," Cobb said. "But when you wake up you won't even remember that we had an arrangement."

* * *

Eames was running out of options. It seemed that the more dangerous the situation became, the more unyielding Fischer became.

"These people are going to kill us if we don't give them the combination."

Fischer shook his head and talked about ransom.

"I heard them," Eames said urgently. "They're gonna lock us in that coach and then drive it into a river!"

Fischer finally, _finally_ , looked at him seriously. "Alright. What's in the safe?"

"Something for you," Eames said, trying to put as much of a positive spin on this as he could. "Maurice always said it was his most precious gift to you. A chance to prove yourself, really."

Fischer's face twisted a little. "Prove myself? What do I have to prove? I should be the _First Lord of Alera_ but no, I'm still referred to as _Princeps Robert!_ My father is dead, burned away to ashes and scattered to the wind, and yet I'm _still_ stuck in his shadow! _"_

 _This is interesting_ , Eames thought. "He's offered you a chance to do something different. Instead of taking up the mantle, you could pass it on to someone else. There are papers, signed and sealed that would have another high lord legally adopted as your father's heir."

"An edict that would force me to give up the crown and have someone else take my place," Robert said in a dull, lifeless voice.

"It'd be an end to the entire empire as we know it," Eames solemnly agreed.

"Destroying my whole inheritance?" Fischer stared and stared. "Why would he suggest such a thing? The Fischer's have been First Lords since the beginning of Alera…"

"I just don't know," Eames answered. And then, he tried to go for the positive emotions that might encourage a change, something that might make him feel good about his relationship with his father. "He loved you, Robert." And because Eames wasn't blind to the animosity between father and son, he added, "In his own way."

Fischer repeated those words, slowly. Eames looked at him again and extended his crafting to peek at Fischer's emotional state.

It was a riot of bundled up conflicting emotions- there was _hate, fear, abandonment, bitterness, love,_ and a vindictive spike of _justification_. As if Fischer could now complete a long list of real and imagined injuries, sit on a therapist's couch, and then explain all the ways his father didn't love him.

Eames had the horrible suspicion that he had just tried to quench a fire with a bucket of gasoline.

Fischer began to tell him a story about his very last interaction with his father as he stood by the man's deathbed. Eames had to stop himself from visibly wincing as Fischer's feelings of _hurt, grief,_ and _anger_ kept flaring in time with his words.

There was a particularly large spike of hatred when Fischer pronounced his father's final words and ultimate opinion of him.

 _Disappointed._

Eames sighed as Fischer stared at him like he was _daring_ his beloved uncle to try and say he was wrong.

* * *

When Ariadne first broached the question of Cobb's time in Limbo, she hadn't expected to get answers. Or, at least, not very good answers. Maybe answers that trailed off into nothing, or answers that went in circles, or answers that really only lead to more questions.

"You were in Limbo for fifty years?"

Cobb nodded.

"Jesus. How could you stand it?"

Ariadne had the suspicion that maybe, since Mal had apparently been with him, it was better than getting lost down there alone.

Cobb shrugged. "It wasn't so bad, feeling like gods. The problem was knowing that none of it was real. It became impossible for me to live like that."

 _Me_ , Ariadne thought. _Not "us", then._

Cobb continued to speak about how Mal had lost her sense of reality, that she had hidden something away inside herself. That Limbo had become her reality.

"And what happened when you woke up?"

Cobb was already looking uncomfortable. "To wake up after years? After decades?"

 _To become old souls thrown back into youth…_

"I knew something was wrong. At first she wouldn't tell me but…she was possessed by this idea. One very simple idea that changed everything."

As Cobb spoke, so much of what Ariadne had already learned came back to the forefront of her mind.

 _You said we'd be together. You said we'd grow old together_ , she remembered the shade screaming as they escaped that dream. The hotel, the open window with its fluttering curtains beckoning like curled fingers.

"She believed that the only way to get back to reality was to kill ourselves."

 _The children,_ Ariadne thought, recalling the projections she'd seen in Cobb's dream. _What about Arthur?_

"Arthur didn't know," Cobb said, almost as if he'd read her mind. "He knew that she was behaving erratically, but he couldn't get a read on her…she actually stopped allowing him to touch her, in case he tried to perform a truthfinding on her or something."

"But if she thought that he was just a projection what would it matter?"

Cobb shook his head. "Everything came to a head on our anniversary. I had asked Arthur to look after the children while we were away, hoping that I might be able to talk some sense to Mal if we were alone. We went to the same hotel suite, each year, without fail. But I came in to find the place a wreck and Mal, she was sitting on the ledge of the building directly opposite ours."

The extractor looked at her quickly, almost as if he were trying to get her to believe him. "I tried to get her down, but she kept threatening to jump unless I got on the ledge, too. It didn't matter what I said, she jumped anyways. She had herself declared sane by three different psychiatrists. She also filed a letter with our attorney, explaining how she feared for her life, and that I threatened to kill her. So I ran and I've been trying to buy my way back ever since."

Ariadne couldn't believe it. She couldn't just tell Cobb that it was crazy- that it sounded like something that should be on a soap opera! Cobb was being haunted by a dead woman. A hungry ghost that fed on his guilt and shame over what had been done, that stood in his path and stopped him from completing the mission to get home, and that harmed anyone else who stood a chance at helping Cobb, too.

She remembered the gutting in the first dream she shared with Cobb, the broken champagne glass Mal had armed herself with during the last one.

And, Ariadne knew that she wasn't the only person Mal liked to go after. _Poor Arthur_ , she thought.

The only course of action was for Cobb to forgive himself for what happened and confront Mal.

She told him so.

"But you don't have to do it alone."

Cobb flinched and shook his head. "No, you don't have to…"

"I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for the others. Because they have no idea the risk they've taken coming down here with you."

Before Cobb could say anything in response to her harsh (but accurate) assessment, he spotted movement from his spot by the windows. It was another one of Fischer's projections.

"We have to move."

* * *

Cobb and Arthur rushed back into the backroom where Fischer and Eames forging Browning, sat huddled together.

"Time's up," Cobb said as he stood over Fischer.

"Alright," the mark said fearfully, "I don't know any combination. Not consciously anyway."

Cobb pulled his sword and pressed the shining steal tip against the mark's throat.

"How about instinctively, huh?"

The extractor gestured to Arthur who was holding an ordinary glass of water. Fischer wouldn't be able to tell that Arthur _wasn't_ working a watercrafting so they could speak to someone else in his father's chambers- Fischer didn't need to know that the watercrafting was only going as far as the room upstairs where Yusuf stood ready to play the part needed.

"I've got somebody standing in your father's chambers right now ready to put in the combination. Give me the first six numbers that come to your head right now!"

Arthur came closer so Fischer could be 'heard' through the watercrafting.

Fischer refused and once again claimed his ignorance.

 _Time to push harder,_ Cobb thought, reaching out to his firecrafting and hitting Fischer where it would hurt- the already strained fear for his uncle. Cobb exploited it, playing up his firecrafting to accentuate Fischer's fear.

Then he took the sword and placed it against Eames's throat, screaming, "Right now! I said right now!"

Fischer spat out a series of numbers. Five, two, eight, four, nine, one- worthless numbers that could very well become the combination they needed Fischer to know.

Cobb looked expectantly over at Arthur. A voice that sounded like it was coming from a tube, a voice that was really just Yusuf speaking to them in an undertone while covering his mouth with one hand, could be heard from the cup of water.

" _It didn't work_ ," the voice said, and after a second or two, Arthur broke the crafting.

Cobb removed the sword from Eames's throat, aware of Arthur's eyes on him the entire time.

"You'll have to do better than that." Cobb looked at Arthur, nodded at the pair on the ground and said, "Alright. Bag them."

* * *

Arthur took the hooded Princeps, forcing him to walk forwards with the hand he kept on the back of the man's neck. Cobb did the same with Eames forging Browning, keeping him hooded as well for the sake of the ploy.

When Arthur forced Fischer to get into the coach, finally unbound but unable to escape as Arthur quickly dosed him with more sedative.

"We're worth more to you alive," Fischer was still saying as the the point man waited for the sedative to take effect.

Once he was out, Arthur hopped out of the coach and reconvened with Cobb and Eames, who had dropped the forgery as soon as the hood was off of his head, following Arthur out of the reasonably spacious back of the coach.

"What'd you get?" Cobb asked.

"That boy's relationship with his father is even worse than we imagined."

"And this helps us how?" Arthur said as he circled around the coach, moving swiftly to the large wooden doors he'd have to slide open to get a better look at the small army coming to reclaim Fischer and murder them creatively.

"The stronger the issues, the more powerful the catharsis," Cobb called to the point man's back.

Ariadne was heading to get into the coach, carrying the PASIV so Yusuf would be free to carry Saito. The client was slumped over Yusuf's back, not enjoying the piggyback ride he was getting. It probably only put more pressure on his chest wound.

Cobb moved to help them as Arthur began to argue with Eames over the next move.

"How are we gonna reconcile them if they're so estranged?" Arthur said as he made a short bow appear in his hand. He reached for the quiver of arrows now hanging in a leather quiver on his back, moving towards the doors and large windows of the warehouse with quick, sure steps.

"Well I'm working on that aren't I?" Eames called after him.

"Work faster, Mr. Eames!"

Arthur moved to the door, already outlining the strategy- the projections were closing in quick and they'd have to break out of the warehouse before they were boxed in and killed.

The point man took a deep breath and looked out the windows- he spotted a man armed with a crossbow, standing on another rooftop not too far away. If the projection was a decent woodcrafter, Arthur could become excellent food for the hungry crows that appeared just before large, bloody battles were fought.

He pushed that out of his mind, drew an arrow, set it to the string of his bow and pulled it back nice and tight. He lined up his shot and sent the arrow smashing through the window and flying towards the projection on the roof. He missed.

Arthur tried again, aiming for another that was crawling along the ground, also armed with a bow. He came close, but still, Arthur didn't kill him.

Several of the projections' arrows did slam into the window frame that Arthur was standing in front of!

He jumped away and counted himself lucky.

 _I wish I had my gun. I really miss my gun_ , Arthur thought. He wasn't the most amazing shot with a bow and arrow- he'd need more woodcrafting to shoot as well as these projections!

Arthur was very tempted to run out there and draw steel. He could cut them all to ribbons using the duelist blade he had strapped to his hip…and then get shot full of arrows when his back was turned.

Frustrated, Arthur moved to the warehouse door, forcing it to slide open and provide him with a better vantage point as the team finished loading Saito into the coach.

Arthur was finally able to shoot down the man on the roof! Several arrows went flying his way, but Arthur dodged with a windcrafter's characteristic speed. He lined up his next shot, spotting another man on the roof.

He shot another arrow but missed as another volley of arrows came his way, forcing him to dodge again.

"Damn it," Arthur said, reaching for another arrow and finding that the leather quiver he wore was empty.

Eames waltzed over and sent a very brief smile his way.

"You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling," Eames said.

"What?" Arthur asked, as if they had all the time in the world to be cute and banter. "Are you going to show me up with a grenade launcher?"

"No," Eames said, as he manifested a massive war bow, using all of his woodcrafting to bend the thing back, further and further as he set the arrow in place and took the proper position to fire the thing. His broad shoulders were set, the muscles in his arms were flexing powerfully, and then after spotting his quarry, Eames fired.

It rocketed from the war bow, flying through the air with a piercing whistle. The arrow slipped its way around obstacles till it found the projection Arthur had tried to take down himself.

And when it got there, the arrow nearly took off the projection's head.

Arthur shot Eames a look, trying and failing to not look so impressed. Eames released his crafting, stretching out his arms to relieve the tension. Arthur heard several vertebrae in the forger's spine _pop_ back into place.

Then Eames started to walk back to the coach so he could take his place in the back with the sedated Fischer.

Arthur couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes and shut the warehouse door.

* * *

They began to plan their next steps while Yusuf drove the coach.

"We need to shift his animosity from his father to his godfather," Cobb was saying.

"You're going to destroy his one positive relationship?"

Eames was sitting close to Saito, who had passed out in his seat, the wound on his chest bleeding through Ariadne's bandages.

"Oh no, we repair his relationship with his father whilst exposing his godfather's true nature," Eames explained to Ariadne as they passed each other PASIV lines and carefully secured them to their arms for the long and bumpy ride. They also used sets of straps attached to their cushioned seats to keep them in place- it wouldn't do to accidentally wake up on the first level because of Yusuf's driving simulating an early kick. "We should charge Fischer a lot more than Saito for this job!"

"What about his security?" Arthur asked as he fixed his own line. "It's only gonna get worse as we go deeper."

Cobb refused to make eye contact, pretending to be more interested in fixing his line.

"I think we run with Mr. Charles."

"No."

Cobb shrugged off Arthur's quick denial of the plan and changed tactics. "Fine, we'll run with _Sir_ Charles."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I said, _no_."

"Who's Mr. Charles? Or Sir Charles?" Eames asked Arthur, honestly curious about this bone of contention between the two dream thieves.

"It's a bad idea," Arthur answered the forger, still focusing on Cobb.

"We run with Mr. Charles like we did on the Stein job!"

Eames was enjoying this little tennis match between the point man and extractor. "You've done it before?"

"We tried it before and it didn't work! The subject realized that he was dreaming and then his subconscious tore us to pieces!"

"Excellent. But you learned a lot, darling?" Eames couldn't help but ask Arthur.

Cobb went on to talk about how he needed a distraction; Eames all but raised his hand and waved.

"No problem. How about a lovely lady that I've used before?"

Whether Cobb agreed or disagreed with Eames's offer of an unplanned forgery, he turned away and opened the window of the coach to yell to Yusuf.

"Listen to me," Cobb shouted up to the chemist in the coach driver's seat. "You drive carefully, all right? Everything down there is going to be unstable as hell."

Yusuf continued to keep the horses as calm as possible while they pulled the coach, running at a steady pace so they wouldn't grow too tired. But even now, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see that this pleasant little Aleran street was going to get very _crowded_ soon.

"Don't jump too soon," said Arthur, who windcrafted his voice to the chemist. "We only got one shot at that kick. We gotta make it."

"I'll play the music to let you know it's coming," Yusuf reminded the point man, sure that he was catching every word through the pouring rain and the sound of a few coaches beginning to pursue them. "The rest is on you. You ready?"

Cobb answered for them all, calling out, "Ready!"

Yusuf patted the PASIV case that was at his side for ease of access, strapped down to the bench so it wouldn't fall off when the ride got a little rough. He pressed the button and called to them, "Sweet dreams!"


	12. Chapter 12

A.N- The closer to the end I get, the harder it seems to be to sit down and write. But here I am with another installment!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. I also do not own Codex Alera.

Eames's "lovely lady" that he'd used before, was actually the very first female forgery he'd mastered. Sitting at the edge of the river that ran through his family's small plot of land, a much younger Eames had looked into the water and spotted his fury's face; humanoid, his fury took the shape of a young, beautiful woman.

As he sat in the sunshine and relaxed, he wondered what color his fury's hair was. What color were her eyes? She was a water fury and when she manifested in this shape, she didn't usually have a particular shade. Well, unless the water she shaped herself from was murky, filled with sediment, or colored by something present in the water. No, Eames looked at her smiling face and tried to picture her as a living, human woman rather than an elemental being.

He'd been drowsing, thinking about it, and picturing it in his mind's eye. He'd thought her hair would be blonde- something warmer than a platinum blonde? And her eyes would be dark…not blue or grey. He'd thought that hazel would best suit his fury.

He held that image in his mind; the fury in full color, smiling and laughing.

And then he heard the laughter- it was coming from _him_ , of course. But it was something gentle, something feminine. At this point in his watercrafting training, he'd already proven that he was capable of mimicking the voices of others whether they happened to be male or female.

But now as he looked into the water, he could see that his reflection had changed- that instead of his own familiar features, he'd adopted those of his fury- his hair had grown long and changed from boring brown to blonde, his eyes shifted from grey to hazel, and his mouth had become a little more delicate, but was no less kissable than before!

He, now _she_ , made a funny picture sitting in what he had been wearing while daydreaming. That day he had shifted form unintentionally; becoming a mirror image of his beautiful water fury wearing a too large school uniform.

It was shocking.

But over time he'd learned to fluidly shift between genders. It was what made him such an accomplished forger. And shifting in dreams was much easier because he didn't have to worry over having the proper costume on hand.

So, before Yusuf pressed the button and sent them down to the second level, Eames kept his fury's image firmly in his mind, knowing that she would be especially pleased that he was adopting it once again, even if it was just for a distraction.

* * *

"Am I boring you?" Eames asked Fischer while wearing the shape of his water fury.

He had arranged himself in a calculated pose- the dancer's silks that his new shape wore covered only the most necessary parts for modesty's sake. If he happened to look around, he'd spot other "dancers" wearing far less.

Sitting on a comfortable stool next to the mark at the bar, Eames began to work a small earthcrafting, no different from any other female projection in this pleasure house. The others danced, sang, served, and flirted with young _legionares,_ using their own earthcrafting abilities to make the men loosen their purse strings for just the _chance_ of getting to the upstairs rooms.

But all Eames needed to do was distract Fischer and his subconscious for just a little bit…

He ran one hand through his hair, fingers trailing through the soft blonde locks and drawing attention to his throat and the leather collar he, like many others working within the pleasure house, wore.

When Fischer locked eyes on it, he flinched visibly and tried to look away.

 _There it is,_ Eames thought. _Reminds you of a certain business rival, doesn't it?_

"I was telling you my story. I guess it wasn't to your liking."

Fischer recovered, clearing his throat and fiddling with the drink sitting in front of him.

"I have a lot on my mind."

* * *

"If you dreamed me into being a prostitute," Ariadne said softly to Arthur, who sat close to her on a cozy couch in the front room of the pleasure house. "I'll throw you through a wall, Arthur."

Arthur was dressed as an armored _singulare;_ his hair was Legion regulation length, short and neat, his scratched and dented lorica and breastplate were polished to a shine, his _gladius_ was belted and hanging at the proper angle, and the customary scarlet half cape was draped over his shoulders. He looked very dashing and noble. He smiled at her briefly.

"First, I make the grade of Knight Aeris and Ferrous, so technically I'm _Sir_ Arthur. Second, you're not an employee, you're the boss. The _madam_ of the pleasure house. And Yusuf told me how annoyed you were with that dress, so I gave you something more appropriate."

Ariadne looked down at her own costume; instead of a dress, she wore a fine linen shirt tucked into the waistband of a pair of supple leather pants. Instead of slippers, she wore boots. Wearing very little makeup, no jewelry, and her hair in a bun, Ariadne wasn't the picture of a finely bred lady. But she wasn't to be mistaken for a fool, either.

She slanted a smile to Arthur, primly crossing her legs and watching the passing projections that either represented a customer or one of her employees.

"Thank you," she said to the point man. "I think that this will do nicely."

If he had anything to say in response, he stopped himself. Sir Arthur caught movement out of the corner of his eye and nodded towards who had just entered the pleasure house.

"There goes Sir Charles…"

Ariadne watched Cobb pass them by, heading to the bar where Fischer and Eames were waiting. He was dressed like Arthur- the armor, the weapons, and that scarlet half cape that fluttered behind him as he walked.

"Is he a Knight, too? Cobb, I mean?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess. When I was still in the program, our commanding officers liked to toss those terms around- they'd call me a Knight Aeris and Eames a Knight Aqua, though they'd never put him in the field to use his watercrafting in battle. They'd want Eames to stay behind as one of the medics. In this case, Cobb could be a Knight Ignus because of his firecrafting."

* * *

Cobb, feeling itchy and uncomfortable in his armor, struggled to ignore it as he walked to the occupied Princeps.

So far he was going unnoticed by the projections, some of which were helpfully distracting each other as they played out their roles of dancers and _legionares_.

He knew the role he was meant to play in this- the only one that would get them out of the bar and inspire Fischer to trust him. He must first play the part of his _singulare_ , his bodyguard. Cobb made contact, slipping close to where Fischer sat.

"Your Highness," he said sotto voce, as if he were trying to not make Fischer's true identity known. Cobb frowned, thinking, _the least he could have done is make himself look_ a little _different._

Fischer was playing the part of the pauper rather than the prince, wearing cheap and mended clothing rather than what a man of his station would parade around in. In Cobb's opinion, it was pretty hard for Fischer to shake that image. He was too recognizable- it was likely that a perfect stranger could walk up, slap him across the face, and agree that Fischer (much like Sherlock Holmes) had cheekbones sharp enough to give them a stinging, bloody palm.

Cobb tried to not distract himself with such things. He cleared his throat again and looked at the young, scantily clad lady seated so close to Fischer. Cobb already knew that his interruption was being used by Eames, so he could deftly slip his hand out of Fischer's cloak and make off with his purse. If Cobb said nothing and drew no more attention to him, Eames would be able to walk away. If anything, the presence of a _singulare_ was enough of a reason for Eames to cut and run.

Eames as the pretty blonde dancer leaned forwards, slipping a note into Fischer's hand as he stole the man's purse, saying, "In case you get bored."

Then with a final flickering touch of earthcrafting, Eames was gone. Several _legionares_ stood and followed him out.

Fischer huffed a sigh and looked up at Cobb. "What do you want?"

 _To incept you_.

"I seek only to serve and protect you, sire," Cobb said, having practiced and practiced what a good _singulare_ would say. And then he said something Fischer's _singulare_ wouldn't say in his capacity as a bodyguard.

"But she must have blown you off…unless her address really is the same as the Gray Tower?"

Fischer examined the note carefully, frowning when he noticed that what Cobb said was true.

"I thought she was interested in me," Fischer said to himself, pushing the useless note aside and reaching for his glass. He took a sip of whatever was inside before speaking again. "We we're having a nice chat, we could have become friends."

"Funny way to make friends, someone stealing your purse like that."

Fischer checked for his purse, fumbling under his cloak.

"Crows," Fischer cursed to himself. "That purse is worth at least five hundred-," Fischer began complaining, before Cobb cut him off.

"Listen, don't worry about it. The others are on it, as we speak."

* * *

"Who or what is Mr. Charles?" Ariadne asked Arthur.

Arthur placed one hand against his _gladius_ , gripping the hilt as he watched Eames still forging the blonde, slink and slip through the crowded front room, heading towards the stairs with a couple of Fischer's _legionare_ projections on his tail.

"It's a gambit designed to turn Fischer against his own subconscious," Arthur said, keeping an eye on Eames and waiting to see if he'd need some assistance.

"And why don't you approve?"

"Because it involves telling the mark that he's dreaming which involves attracting a lot of attention to us."

"But didn't Cobb say never to do that?" Ariadne asked, watching Eames's progress, too. As the forger passed them by, Ariadne didn't miss his interested once over and the _wink_ sent the point man's way.

She looked at Arthur briefly, curious to see what his reaction would be. The man only smiled indulgently before returning his full attention to Ariadne.

"Sorry," the point man shrugged, "Eames always liked me in uniform."

This caught Ariadne's interest. "Army uniform?"

 _Any uniform?_ Ariadne couldn't help but think to herself, blushing only a little bit at the implication.

Arthur no doubt caught the sudden flash of embarrassment from her; but if he was embarrassed or uncomfortable, he didn't show it.

He simply raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, answering the question she asked aloud.

"Well, yes! We were paired off for Project PASIV; he had only just been added to our experiment, a fresh transfer from a similar experiment held in the British Army. It was all done in a _see all the goodwill and teamwork we're showing as we try to fight against terrorism_ sort of way."

"So he was supposed to help you with watercrafting?"

Arthur nodded. "And I was supposed to help him with earthcrafting and maybe some windcrafting." He shrugged. "It was before we learned that gaining more strength in a particular form of crafting relied on the number of furies a person could claim. That and the levels of fury crafting that a person was capable of; whether they could manifest their furies into a physical form or if the crafting was only internalized. In the end it didn't matter because so few soldiers in the experiment ever saw any action."

* * *

Eames was completely aware of the two _legionares_ who pursued him. Still wrapped up in his forgery, his not being armed with conventional weapons posed a problem.

If he had the _gladius_ he'd spotted with Arthur, he could have taken them on. He cursed himself for not giving himself something that could be used as a weapon. No jewelry and no decorative hair pins…

He'd have to use crafting, then.

Eames slowed down before he came to the stairs and let the _legionares_ catch up- one appeared on either side, boxing him in.

He timed it carefully, moving his hands so that his fingers pressed against the first's temple and the second's cheek, willing his water fury to take swift action and disable them.

"Sleep," Eames commanded, feeling the two _legionares_ fall unconscious, their awareness dropping away like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass.

The clanging noise their armor made as they hit the ground marked Eames's leaving the front room.

* * *

Saito moved down the stairs, his bare feet making heavy _thump thump_ noises as he went. He wasn't surprised that he manifested, as the others would say, dressed in a slave costume similar to what he wore on the first level, complete with the discipline collar that he had worn for several years in the waking world.

The weight of it around his neck, the pressure of it against his throat, was meant to serve as a reminder for both him _and_ Fischer. It reminded him of his goal for the inception; he wanted to be free, he _needed_ to be free again!

He made it to the landing and the entrance to the front room, ready to search for the team and for Fischer.

But he was stopped in his tracks by a blonde woman; a beautiful dancer who happened to have a _legionare_ following after her. As she entered the small space, she flicked her hand at the door to the stairs which had been left propped open.

"Mr. Saito," she said softly, coming close enough to touch. "Can I have a moment?"

The wooden door shuddered and then swiftly snapped closed behind her, cutting off the sound of the pursuing _legionare_ and his cry of, "Hold on! Wait!"

With another gesture, she forced the door to lock from the inside, a wooden beam dropping down and slotting into place behind her.

Flustered, Saito began to apologize. He stepped away before the dancer could touch him.

"I'm sorry, but…"

The girl smiled at him and tilted her head to the side, indicating that he could take a look to his right.

Saito did as she suggested and looked. There was a mirror hanging on the wall; it was large and ornate, maybe something that the dancers used to check their appearance before hitting the floor and getting to work.

He and beautiful blonde dancer were reflected there, going on forever in a straight line. Saito turned his head and spotted the _second_ mirror hanging on the wall directly across from the first. The dancer turned her head to the first mirror and smiled at her reflection, which smiled back at her, and then in line just behind _that_ reflection, Eames the forger smiled, too. And then line of dancers continued on.

"You look a bit perkier," Eames was saying in his deeper, accented voice. When Saito stopped looking at the reflections in the mirror and looked to the person still standing close, but not touching him. The blonde dancer was gone, replaced by Eames dressed as a _singulare_.

"Very amusing, Mr. Eames."

For all that Eames said he looked _perkier_ , Saito could feel the pain like a dull throb at the center of his chest. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been on the first level, but it only served to remind him of his promise to Cobb; he wouldn't back out of their agreement. Of course, it all hinged upon him getting out of this dream alive.

Eames began to examine the contents of Fischer's purse. He fished out the little painting and examined it again.

There was a sudden rumbling that made the floor shake. Saito looked up and listened, confused as to where the disturbance was coming from. Was it an earthquake? Someone's crafting on this level?

"Turbulence on the plane?" Saito finally asked as Eames slipped the painting back into the purse. The forger didn't even look up from his task when he answered him.

"No, it's much closer. That's Yusuf's coach driving."

* * *

It was much harder to drive a coach in the rain, calm the horses, and avoid getting hit by volleys of arrows, than Yusuf had thought.

The coach driver behind him had the advantage of only being tasked with driving the coach. Said coach was full of armed cutters. Not sleeping dream thieves.

Yusuf ducked another arrow and then two more that went zipping around the sharp turn he took, hoping to evade the pursuing projections.

And the rain continued to come down atop the chemist's head as he gripped the reins tight and called to the horses.

* * *

Fischer was watching the liquor in his glass shudder. He shifted his gaze away and looked back to his _singulare._

"You scared off the lady I was talking to- never mind that she blew me off! I need to know why you came over here."

Sir Cobb sat down at the bar next to Fischer, giving him a steady look, practically projecting his honesty.

"As I said before, Your Highness. I seek only to serve and protect you."

Fischer narrowed his eyes, watching him and waiting for the catch.

"You know who I am. You remember me," Cobb was saying, playing into Fischer's fantasy of being the young Princeps, the future First Lord of Alera. "I am the Captain of the brave _singulares_ who guard you with their lives. I am Sir Charles and I am here to protect you."

"From what?" Fischer asked.

"From dream sorcery," Cobb ad libbed, having been unsure as to how to present the concept of dreamshare as it might be viewed in Alera. "Strange craftings that would allow skilled thieves to take information and secrets from your mind as you sleep."

* * *

"I've unbarred the stairwell door," Eames said after they climbed two more flights and reached another of the brothel's upstairs levels. "I need you to go up a few more floors and dump the purse. Security will be looking for that."

Saito pressed one hand against his chest, trying to not cough. He was certain that he wasn't going to like what happened when he did; from his time on the first level he'd remembered the way his blood tasted, sharp and metallic on his tongue. He was certain that coughing up blood in front of Eames wouldn't do him any favors.

Eames passed the purse to Saito and flinched when their fingers touched. He jerked his hand away as if he had been burned.

"Shit!" Eames swore before laying his hands on Saito again. He closed his eyes and used his crafting to find the source of the hurt. He laid the flat of his palm against Saito's chest, where Saito had pressed his own hand, too. The pain flared, a sullen red ache that spread throughout Saito's body, tracing like fire down his veins. It grew a little stronger with every beat of his heart.

"I'm sorry," the forger said as he opened his eyes, wincing and feeling that pain with Saito. "Being a watercrafter takes near constant shielding so we don't drown in the emotions of others; you've been doing a remarkable job holding back your pain, anxiety, and fear. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've some metalcrafting."

Saito shook his head, having long since given up berating himself over this twist of fate- not of being shackled by the collar or furycrafted into obeying the will of another. No, that anger was still there, but kept in check so as not to feel the dreaded pain of the discipline collar. He'd come to terms with the fact that he wasn't capable of any furycraft at all.

Eames took his hands off of Saito and told him what he'd discovered.

"The work that Arthur did to heal the tissue damage is falling apart- the poison is entering the old wounds and spreading."

Saito looked at him and asked, "Why don't you use your gifts to heal anymore?"

Saito almost wished that he was capable of crafting, just so he could tease out the knot of emotions Eames was no doubt forcing away and preventing from showing on his face.

"This isn't the time for a walk down traumatic memory lane," Eames said, avoiding the issue and moving to exit the stairwell and get on a different floor. "Go to a different floor and keep moving."

The forger opened the door but paused before leaving, looking down the hall for Fischer's security. "We need to buy Cobb a little more time," he said to Saito once he was sure the coast was clear.

Saito agreed and watched as the forger left the stairwell.

Once he was alone, he allowed the coughing fit to come. He coughed against his clenched fist and tried to ignore the pain.

When the fit had passed, he looked at the speckles and dots of blood that covered his thumb and the back of his hand. He could taste it in his mouth and grimaced.

Then he looked up the staircase and took as deep a breath as he was comfortable with. He gripping the railing and began to haul himself upwards with the stolen purse clenched in his fist.

* * *

Fischer looked at Cobb carefully.

"Dream security," Fischer was saying, watching Cobb's face as if _he_ were the extractor trying to pluck bits and pieces of information from his mark's mind. "This sorcery is called _extraction_ , yes?"

Cobb nodded, playing along; figuring that Fischer's actual training for militarization could be explained using the Aleran _sorcery_ and _dream thievery._

"Yes," Cobb answered, leaning forwards and speaking calmly. Cobb began soothing away the suspicion that radiated from Fischer with his earthcrafting, gentling him into the idea of accepting Cobb as his ally and _only_ protector. "I'm here to protect you."

The sound of a glass shattering as a collared serving girl placed her tray on the bar, broke Cobb's concentration for a second. And then he spotted them.

Sitting on the floor, patrons of the pleasure house walking around them, we're Cobb's little children. Before he could say or do anything, the projections of his children got up off the ground and ran away.

But his silence, his distraction was enough to get Fischer's projections to stop dancing or drinking, kissing or flirting. Every projection turned its attention to Cobb, who froze on his bar stool and tried to stay calm. If he wasn't careful, he'd get Fischer to try and find the dreamer too soon- and Arthur wouldn't like that at all.

"Your Highness, I'm here to protect you in the event that someone tries to access your mind through your dreams." Cobb licked his lips and leaned closer to Fischer, speaking softly as if he only wanted _him_ to hear his next words. "You're not safe here."

Then, as he stood up and whispered in Fischer's ear, he hit Fischer with a bolt of earthcrafting, sending an undulating wave of _fear_ through the young man's body. "They're coming for you."

Cobb stepped away and watched the changing weather through the windows, thinking to himself, _Yusuf's driving?_ _Maybe he left the windows of the coach open…_

"Strange weather, isn't it?" Cobb said, resisting the urge to wipe at water that wasn't dripping on his face on this level. He ignored the strange phantom feeling, reasoning that a little rain was better than getting slapped in the face. He looked out the window that was behind the bar.

First, the sky was clear. Then there was a pounding, torrential shower of rain combined with a rattling shaking of the earth. Fischer was looking at the rain and then at the liquor in his glass on the bar, watching it respond to the tremors. He pulled his hand away from it slowly, eyes widening.

"You feel that?" Cobb asked Fischer, even though it was obvious that the answer was _yes._

* * *

Ariadne jumped a little when the pleasure house began to shake on its foundations, the windows rattling in their frames.

"What's happening?" She asked Arthur, who merely sat up straighter and closed his hand on his _gladius_ as he watched the projections.

"Cobb's drawing Fischer's attention to the strangeness of the dream, which is making his subconscious look for the dreamer."

The passing projections were looking at them with growing intensity.

"…for me," Arthur said, watching the projections just as carefully. "Quick," the point man said, "give me a kiss."

Ariadne said nothing for long enough to get Arthur to turn his head and stare at her, his eyebrows raised.

"You'll explain to Eames, right?" Ariadne asked.

The point man whispered, "Eames will be fine with a diversionary kiss- he won't be happy if the projections tear me apart."

Ariadne nodded and Arthur leaned forwards, pressing his mouth to hers in a very gentle, chaste kiss. Ariadne had enough time to reflect that it lacked the heat of the kiss she'd seen the point man share with Eames, but then, they'd both been earthcrafting. And they had chemistry.

It was still a nice kiss, though.

They were close enough, their lips barely touching, that Ariadne could feel the way Arthur smiled as he whispered, "Now slap me across the face, _madam_."

Ariadne forced her answering smile off of her face, moved away from Arthur as if she was pulling away from him in shock, raised her hand and slapped the point man, forcing his head to snap to the side with the blow. She didn't even use her earthcrafting!

Arthur pressed one hand to his cheek and the red mark that was blossoming there, eyes downcast but subtly observing the projections to see if the ploy worked. Ariadne looked at the projections and didn't see much of a difference in their behavior.

"They're still looking at us," she told Arthur, who was now running his fingers across the mark on his face; the longer he pressed his fingers against the mark, the lighter it became, till finally he had healed the mark that Ariadne had given him.

"Yeah, it was worth a shot."

Ariadne stopped herself from laughing at his tone; at the situation, at what she believed the look on Eames's face would be when they had a chance to retell the story. She was already thinking of what Yusuf was going to say.

"We should probably get out of here," Arthur said, getting to his feet and walking away, not making eye contact with the projections that still watched him. Ariadne first watched his progress, a _singulare_ retreating from a swift rejection. Then she got up and followed after him, watching his back in case the projections got any funny ideas.

* * *

"Just get down the road," Yusuf was whispering to the horses as they ran. "Just keep going!"

He'd lost one of the coaches but still had another on his tail. He took another sharp turn, hoping that he'd get the other coach to flip, to loose a wheel…

Yusuf smiled. He turned in the driver's seat and extended his hand out, calling to his wood fury!

For a second, nothing happened. The coach continued to be pulled by the team of horses, the coach's driver lashing them with the whip.

Then the wooden wheels began to contort themselves out of shape, striping themselves off of their axles- the presence of metal made it more difficult, but as soon as he clenched his fist the wheels _shattered_ into firewood!

The body of the coach dropped to the ground and the horses came to a halt, rearing and forcing the driver to work harder to calm them.

Yusuf grinned and turned his attention back to his own horses and the next turn in the road.

* * *

"You feel that?" Cobb asked Fischer again, who was watching the alcohol in his tumbler slowly tilt to the side because of the shifts in gravity. "You've been trained for this, Your Highness. None of this is real," Cobb said, waving his hand and indicating the way things were shifting and moving in the bar and how the projections behaved as if nothing was unusual. "You're in a dream."

The second Cobb said this he regained the attention of Fischer's projections. Fischer was also staring, trying to process everything. Fischer was definitely remembering bits of his training, just like he should. He just wasn't recalling that he never had the training in _Alera_.

"Now, the easiest way for you to test yourself is to try and remember how you arrived at this pleasure house. Can you do that?"

Fischer was perplexed. He shook his head and tried to come up with what Cobb wanted. It made Cobb recall the most recent time spent asking questions like this; Ariadne had behaved in a similar way.

When Fischer began to scramble for the answer, Cobb reassured him and reminded him of his training. Practicing breathing exercises and accepting that he was in a dream were fairly standard directions.

"Accept the fact that you're in a dream and that I'm here to protect you."

Fischer made a sound of agreement, a short _mm-hm._ Then he said, "You're not real?"

Cobb relaxed only a little bit, leaning against his bar stool and agreeing with Fischer.

"No. I'm a projection of your subconscious." Cobb went through his spiel again, focusing on his role as Fischer's subconscious security, how he was to protect Fischer in the event of extractors trying to pull him into a dream using this strange sorcery. "I believe that that is what's going on right now, Princeps Robert."

It took Fischer a moment, but he nodded and agreed with him. He had probably noticed his _real_ subconscious security gathering; an armed _legionare_ sat a few stools away from Cobb, watching him carefully.

"Can you get me out of here?"

Cobb noticed that Fischer was looking over his shoulder, turned and then caught sight of the _legionare_. The extractor returned his attention to Fischer and nodded sharply.

"Right away, follow me."


	13. Chapter 13

A.N: Sorry, I'm a little late! I'm sort of kicking myself for assuming that two chapters per dream level would be a good enough start, allowing for the moments when I shift focus between the levels, much like it's done in the movie. Ah, I remember the day when I sat down to write the very first chapter and said, "Yeah, I think I can knock this out in five or ten chapters." Sad. The hardest part is what I'm setting us up for in the next couple chapters- I want to write _that_ right now! But, either way, I intend to get this baby finished before my semester officially starts, so wish me luck!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. I also don't own the Codex Alera series.

Cobb had only just forced Fischer into the decently sized, well appointed restroom. He ducked to the side and waited a few breaths, listening for the heavy footsteps of the pursuing _legionares_. They entered the room, not noticing how Cobb lurked off to the side, watching them as they passed through the door and immediately went for Fischer.

Fischer held his hands up in surrender as the projections approached him, weapons drawn.

The extractor playing dream-security bodyguard took a deep breath and thought what he always thought when entering into a dangerous situation that required him to fight. In the past, when it was just fistfights, Cobb would try to imagine himself as the Dark Knight. It had served him well.

And sure, when he was a part of the program he'd received the most basic of training when he'd shown signs of furycrafting. But when he had run with Mal at Arthur's direction, he'd had to take the cultivation of his furycrafting much more seriously.

When Mal had killed herself and he had to run, Arthur followed him without a second thought- and that led to increased training sessions; not just for furycraft but for hand-to-hand combat, too! Cobb no longer tried to emulate Batman when he fought, with or without furycraft.

 _Pretend that you're_ Arthur, Cobb thought to himself, drawing strength from the stone floor and grabbing for the projection that came in last.

With his fury-born strength, Cobb broke the man's neck. Fischer's eyes widened as he watched the dead _legionare_ fall to the ground with his head at an unnatural angle. The clattering of the dead man's armor made enough noise to draw the other projection's attention- the _legionare_ turned his head and caught sight of Cobb.

"Your Highness, back away and take cover!" Cobb looked at the size of the room and added, "Hold your breath!"

Fischer did so immediately, retreating to the furthest corner of the restroom and covering his head.

Before the projection could call his own furies and fight him, Cobb reached out to his fire fury. This deep in the dream, his tiger manifested as a flawless beast made of flames. Without much urging, she hissed and crouched low to the ground before leaping at the _legionare._ As the tiger jumped, she shifted from a predatory cat to a fire ball.

The ball grew in size, becoming a globe of flame as it made contact and enveloped the poor soul's head; there was a flash of growing light, a spike in the temperature of the room, and the scent of charred flesh and ashes. If Cobb hadn't contained the spread of heat, both he and the young Princeps would have gotten second degree burns and have little to no air to breathe.

It was over in seconds and left the _legionare_ headless and very, very dead. The armored corpse dropped to the ground like his fellow had and didn't move. Thankfully.

Fischer ripped his cloak away from his face, looking at the gruesome corpse several feet away from him. He pressed two hands against his mouth, forcing himself to not draw a breath or scream at Cobb. It was probably for the best; it wouldn't take long for the rest of Fischer's projections to come after them, to sense the furycrafting. The last thing they needed was to become distracted with arguments.

Either way, if he could watercraft and sense emotions, Cobb was sure that he would feel Fischer practically screaming, _Jesus Christ! What are you doing?_

Cobb shook his head at Fischer, indicating the fallen man on the ground whose armor had finally stopped glowing with heat, making little pinging noises as it cooled. He pointed at the dead men, then pointed at Fischer, and then mimed slitting his own throat.

It would take something a little more in depth to communicate his original line of how the men would try and abduct Fischer- in this case, murder would be just as good a motivator. Fischer seemed to accept the idea, nodding and looking ridiculous as he still covered his mouth.

Once he was sure that he wouldn't be burned, Cobb reached down and grabbed the _legionare's_ fallen _gladius_. He turned to Fischer and offered the sword, hilt first with the blade balanced against his armored forearm.

The _I need you to work with me_ was heavily implied in the gesture. Fischer took the _gladius_ , testing its weight and getting familiar with the short but deadly blade preferred for use in the Legions; great for hacking apart an enemy from between the raised shields of the men that fought beside you!

Fischer should be familiar with the weapon. Hell, Fischer as the _Princeps_ would be familiar with the weapon if he had served the required two years in the Legion!

But as soon as Fischer had the blade in hand he pointed it at his own stomach and whispered, "If this is a dream, I should just kill myself to wake up, right?"

Cobb took a breath, sincerely hoping that Fischer wasn't willing to run himself through with Aleran steel.

"No, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Cobb advised, speaking carefully.

Cobb moved closer to Fischer, hands extended and making cautious, calming gestures.

"I believe that these dream thieves have you sedated," Cobb sharpened his words with firecrafting; attempting to increase the mark's trust in him, forcing the emotions that bubbled beneath the surface to become stronger. As a firecrafter, Cobb could sway the hearts of a crowd and their minds would follow. He _needed_ Fischer to fear the threat _and_ trust him. "If you stab yourself… you may not wake up." Cobb took another step closer.

"You may go into a further dream state. You know what I'm talking about."

Cobb pushed harder with his crafting, wishing he could inscribe the phrase _you remember your training_ into the man's skin! Cobb asked for the _gladius_.

Seconds passed. They were tense seconds that Cobb spent reevaluating his life for the umpteenth time. When they reached the four and a half second mark, Fischer finally relented and handed the _gladius_ over without stabbing himself or Cobb in the process.

* * *

Ariadne followed Arthur all the way to the fourth floor of the pleasure house and waited for him to open the door to room 491. He used a key, opened the heavy wooden door and led the way.

She looked around the room and spotted all the normal comforts; the bed, a few pieces of furniture, and a furylamp.

Then, in the corner she spotted a safe made entirely out of water.

"This room should be directly below 528?" Arthur asked as he moved to the corner.

Ariadne said yes and watched him get to work.

Arthur, still dressed as a _singulare,_ knelt in front of the safe. He pressed his hand against it; the material seemed to be as solid as stone, the water not shifting or flowing over the pressure of Arthur's hand.

The point man concentrated, using his water fury to gain access.

The cube of water didn't dissolve. There was a barely perceptible shudder across the front and base of the cube; the hinge didn't form, it only became more apparent as the face of the cube suddenly swung into the _open_ position.

Arthur pulled a few tools from inside the safe and set them aside. Then he waved one hand and the safe was shut and locked, becoming a seamless cube of water again. He picked up the tools and looked at the ceiling.

* * *

Fischer wasn't so perturbed by the dead bodies. It helped that Cobb was distracting him with questions about what he remembered from before this dream.

So far, all Cobb had gotten was Fischer's frustrated half-answers.

"There was," Fischer started and then stopped again, shaking his head. "There was um, a lot of arrows fired. There was rain." Fischer stopped leaning against the sinks as another memory drifted back to him! "Uncle Peter."

Fischer turned to face Cobb, eager to tell him what he thought had happened to them. "Great furies, we've been kidnapped!"

Cobb nodded and asked for more details, for where they were held.

Fischer thought and thought and finally came up with something that made sense.

"They had us in the back of a coach."

"That explains the gravity shifts," Cobb agreed, asking for more.

The mark nodded and tried harder to give Cobb what he wanted. It was here that Fischer began to stumble.

"It had something to do with a safe?" He cursed! "Why is it so hard to remember?"

"It's like trying to remember a dream after you've woken up," Cobb said, consoling Fischer but pushing for him to recall more.

 _Ironic statement is ironic_. _Remind Fischer that it's all about practice; force him to focus on the kidnapping! Feed him just enough and he'll fill in the blanks…_

When it wasn't enough, Cobb laid into Fischer- demanding, infusing his voice with his crafting to play on Fischer's desire to please Cobb as an authority figure (no doubt a throwback to his need to please his father) and his fear over what the kidnappers could possibly have wanted.

Then Fischer found it!

"A combination!" Fischer said. "They demanded the first numbers to pop into my head!"

Basic extraction trick- if Cobb were to teach extraction as a college course he'd mention that tactic in _Mind Heist 101._

"We're in a pleasure house, right now. Those numbers could be for one of the upstairs rooms. What was the number, Your Highness? Try and remember for me."

Fischer thought and thought. He brightened up and proclaimed, "Five!" Then he squinted and reached further back to the nonsense numbers he'd given during the first dream. To the address that Eames had left on the note, the number that Cobb had associated with Alera's prison.

"Five, two-," Fischer stopped again, frustrated with himself. "It was something, it was a long number."

Cobb was quick to reassure him that it was more than enough. That they'd start on the fifth floor.

* * *

"You can't fly in here, can you?" Ariadne asked as she watched Arthur scale the stone walls of the room like a spider, his fingers making small depressions in the stone.

He reached the first corner and adjusted his hold on the wall and held his free hand out.

"Give me the chisel."

Ariadne threw it towards him, astounded that he caught it without looking away from the corner. Maybe he could do it because of his metalcrafting?

She could feel the shuddering power of his earthcrafting; how he was keeping himself aloft with the earthcrafted strength that he drew from the stone wall, how he used that strength to drive the large metal chisel into the proper place on the ceiling. It stayed in place when Arthur removed his hand.

He gestured for the hammer, this time looking over his shoulder while he clung to the wall. Ariadne tossed it towards him and he caught it without fumbling.

"I can't fly in a room made of stone," Arthur finally said. "There's air here, but it's not enough to do more than grant me swiftness and speed. Environments like this always make Spot sluggish…he likes the open air best."

Arthur used the hammer to drive the chisel in deeper, widening the hole, creating a larger area of damage. Then he carefully dropped the hammer down to Ariadne so she could catch it without hurting herself. He did the same with the chisel after he'd pulled it out.

Then he dropped to the floor, moved to the next corner, and then scuttled up the wall using his earthcrafting once more.

Ariadne watched silently. They'd already talked about this part of the job- in another dream, on a different job, Arthur would be using explosives to generate the kick, dropping his teammates who slept in the room directly above the one he prepared. But in the hopes of not arousing more suspicion from Fischer's subconscious, Arthur would use his furycraft to drop them instead. But that he had to time it carefully to avoid Yusuf forcing them into freefall. Without gravity, Arthur wouldn't be able to manage the kick.

"I've never seen your earth fury."

Arthur finished both the second and third corners, passed the tools over to her, and then dropped to the ground for a break.

"He's not very powerful. Nothing like your A'tuin. But I can make myself strong, I can run very fast, and I can calm animals."

"And you can inspire lust, too."

Arthur nodded again but didn't move on to the next corner just yet. He was waiting for her to make a point.

"I did that once." She lifted her chin and kept making eye contact with Arthur, like she was trying to prove how brave she was, how her admission wasn't bothering her. And if Arthur looked hard enough, she knew he might be able to call her bluff.

But the point man was quiet.

"I really liked a boy at my high school, but I didn't have the nerve to ask him out because I was a little shy. I eventually got up the courage and we went on a few dates…it was nice. We even went to a school dance. While we were there he got a little overeager after a few dances. We were all set to leave early, but when we were in the parking lot, I had to drive my fist through the parking structure's wall to get him to stop-," she gestured helplessly, unable or unwilling to say what they had been up to when she had to make a show of force. "That was when I realized what I'd done."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "You enjoy it at first, because who doesn't love attention and attraction, but then, it gets scary. Overwhelming."

"It's just," Ariadne began, trying to get back to the reason behind these revelations. "I'm worried about that sort of thing happening again. And I've never really run into any other furycrafters, so I couldn't _ask_. And now…"

 _And now if we all get stuck in unstructured dreamspace, I'll never get to ask. Or if I ask, what will it matter if we're all insane when we wake?_

Arthur, still keeping track of the time, leaned against the wall and said, "I can tell you how it works. I'll use me and Eames as an example. During that practice fight, Eames had used his earthcrafting on me, trying to make me less mad, to gentle me. Then his earth fury sort of sits there and thinks, _if you like Arthur so much, what's stopping you from doing what you really want?_ Sure, Eames had started an earthcrafting to get me hot under the collar, but he didn't realize that his earth fury was going to um, up the ante, a bit."

Ariadne was nodding, remembering how Eames had looked a little surprised when Arthur had responded so quickly.

"Sometimes," Arthur continued, "our furies think they know what's best for us. So when Eames began earthcrafting me, I earthcrafted him back. _My_ earth fury got a similar idea and began to manipulate Eames's desires for me. Our furies probably think we're stupid for trying to ignore all the sexual tension between us! But, the important thing for you to remember, Ariadne, is that Eames and I are adults. We've been at this awhile. We've played the 'who can take the most earthcraft?' game. The experience you had was an accident. Your fury thought it knew better."

"When I finally figured it out, when I felt A'tuin forcing him to feel that way for me, I stopped my fury. I stopped seeing that boy, too. I just felt so sick after that."

Arthur sighed and stopped leaning against the wall. "The only advice I can give you is to remain aware. You know what it feels like to use crafting- if you ever want to question if your latest experience is being enhanced by crafting, listen for your fury. And if your partner is aware of what crafting is, or is a crafter themselves, always ask before you even _think_ of using earthcrafting."

"Because a gentleman doesn't do that sort of thing without their partner's consent?"

"Well, a _gentlewoman_ in your case, but the idea is still the same."

Arthur hesitated, but said, "An earth fury likes to work with existing material. You can't earthcraft someone into loving you, but you can use it to stoke a person's desires. You were young and didn't know that you were capable of such a thing." Arthur shook his head, trying to reassure his suddenly insecure architect. It was enough to remind him just how _young_ she was. "I can feel your guilt, Ariadne. You didn't use your earthcrafting intentionally. You're a grown woman now and know better. Your fury knows better, too."

Arthur pointed to the very last corner of the ceiling. "Want to do the last one?"

Ariadne looked up at the spot that hadn't been struck with a chisel and hammer. She was aware that this was Arthur's way of getting them back to work, back to the job at hand. But he was also providing her with a small distraction that would make her use her earthcrafting.

As if A'tuin had been aware of the conversation, the fury manifested; rising up out of the stone floor, the granite tortoise blinked its diamond bright eyes at her. It nudged her affectionately with its head, A'tuin sending her a vibrant thrumming of emotion through their bond. She smiled as the fury's message of _sorrysorry_ was followed by a wordless outpouring of love.

Ariadne leaned down a little and touched the fury, rubbing her hand across the elemental being's chipped stone shell. Even though she'd grown up and gotten taller, A'tuin was still a fairly large tortoise.

"Come on, A'tuin," she said to her fury. "Let's make more holes in the wall for Arthur."

* * *

They made the trek up the stairs, not running into any other projections along the way.

When they made it to the fifth floor, Cobb let Fischer lead the way, but noticed how he stopped when he spotted both Arthur and Ariadne waiting next to room 528. The Princeps was startled by the sight of another man in armor.

"They're with me," Cobb reassured Fischer, staying close to his side, being watchful and vigilant like a good _singulare_ should. Fischer continued forwards, watching Cobb's fellows with some curiosity before standing uncertainly before the door to room 528.

Cobb moved closer to the door and listened for a moment before nodding to Arthur.

The point man moved swiftly, coming to Cobb's side and drawing his _gladius_ as Cobb did the same. Armed and ready, Arthur watched Cobb's back as the extractor kicked the door open.

Once the door was open, they flooded in, searching the room and finding it empty. Arthur immediately moved to the closet and came back with a PASIV.

"Sir Charles," Arthur said, bringing the PASIV to him as Fischer and Ariadne watched, having entered the room as the two _singulares_ checked for other occupants or traps.

Arthur put the PASIV on the bed, opening it up and checking to see if everything was ready.

"Do you know what that is, Your Highness?" Cobb asked.

Fischer eyed the machine and nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."

Which was true. Fischer had no doubt seen a PASIV before, considering the work he had to do in order to become militarized. Now Cobb just had to cement the idea that this wasn't just the PASIV which enabled skilled extractors to steal secrets as their marks slept.

"Dream sorcery," Cobb said, his tone serious. "The thieves were trying to put you under."

Fischer was ready to deny that. "But I'm already under."

Cobb shook his head and reached out to touch Fischer, just his hand against the man's arm.

Cobb worked his firecrafting again, exploiting Fischer's suspicion, his fear and worry, spinning it all in his favor.

"Under again."

* * *

Back on the lower levels, Saito walked with his head down, trying to melt into the background.

He went unnoticed among the dancers and _legionares_. The discipline collar was the perfect camouflage- it marked him as a slave, but not an employee of the pleasure house; it marked him as the property of another and thusly he was not to be touched.

Saito could slip through the crowded bar and the front room like a ghost.

But he stopped dead when he spotted Lord Browning making his way through the room, the patrons stepping aside and making a path for him.

Clothed in the anarchistic shades of black and red, the colors of his House, Peter Browning moved in the direction of the bar.

Saito stepped aside like the projections, kept his gaze on the floor between his bare feet, wishing he had furycraft.

 _A little windcraft and I'd have a shimmering veil to hide my presence._

But when Browning passed, he didn't even look in Saito's direction.

Once Browning had passed him by, Saito breathed a very short sigh of relief.

"That's Fischer's projection of Browning," Eames said, sliding next to Saito and watching the Browning projection's progress. "Let's follow him and see how he behaves."

"Why?"

"Because," Eames said shortly, "how he acts will tell us if Fischer is starting to suspect his motives the way we want him to."

When Eames walked and began to observe Browning as he went towards the bar, Saito followed after the forger posing as a _singulare_ , not walking at his side but trailing after and a little to the right. Curious, Eames looked over his shoulder at Saito's position, but nodded shallowly in agreement. They would have drawn much more attention if they walked side by side.

"I'm surprised that you didn't mistake Browning for me," Eames said softly.

"I'm surprised that you find me so gullible, Mr. Eames," Saito answered. The client's tone shocked a small snort of laughter out of the forger.

"You were unconscious for my performance as Browning on the first level. I wonder if you would have known the difference if I had reason to forge Browning here, Mr. Saito?"

"You're an accomplished forger," Saito said as they followed after Browning, giving him more than enough space so they could go unnoticed for a time. It appeared that Browning had made it to the bar, had gotten his drink, and was ready to turn back. Together, they waited for Browning to come back and pass them by, and then turned to follow the man as he walked in the direction of the stairs. "But I've had my interactions with Browning."

"Good, bad, indifferent?"

"Browning doesn't agree with my being turned into a symbol of the Fischer's power."

"Sympathy?"

Saito shrugged a little. "The man has no furycraft, doesn't like that I was enslaved, but also, hasn't done much to persuade Fischer to release me, either."

"The longer that your hands are tied, the longer Fischer Morrow remains on top. Browning, with his close relations to the company and his years of service, also benefits from your status as a symbol."

Saito nodded in agreement.

They waited for several minutes after Browning took the stairs. Then they followed.

* * *

Arthur heard a noise and held up his hand.

"Shh," he said, warning the others to be silent.

There was the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, the doorknob beginning to turn before it suddenly stopped. The door was pushed open, making the damage to the door frame very obvious.

As the door was pushed open, Arthur grabbed the stranger's hand and disabled him; kicking the man's leg and forcing him to fall to one knee. Arthur held his _gladius_ against the neck of High Lord Browning, godfather and uncle to the young Princeps.

"Uncle Peter!" Fischer said, moving forwards to help him but stopped once Cobb gave him a look and shook his head.

"You said that you were kidnapped together?" Cobb asked as he took the key away from the projection of Browning.

"Well, not exactly," Fischer amended, needing to prove to Cobb that what he had said was true! "They already had him at their hideout! They- they were torturing him!"

"And you saw it? You saw them torture him?"

All Cobb needed to do was give him the smallest seed of doubt…

Fischer seized upon it, the idea blossoming as he looked at his very guilty uncle, kneeling with a sharp blade pressed against his throat. It was subtle, the way that Fischer was feeding the idea, making it stronger through his own projection's actions. His projection of Browning looked away from him, eyes downcast.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

"The kidnappers are working for you?"

Browning sighed, "Princeps Robert."

"You're trying to get that safe open? You're trying to get your hands on that edict!" Fischer's eyes narrowed. "I am the legitimate First Lord of Alera, uncle!"

"I have spent my whole life working with your family, with your father. I can't let you destroy the kingdom I helped your father build."

"I'm not going to throw away my inheritance!" Fischer was incensed. "Why would I?"

Browning took a shaky breath, trying to avoid nicking himself on Arthur's blade. "I intended to destroy the edict, but it's clear now that you know of its existence. I couldn't let you rise to your father's last taunt. He's challenging you to give up your right to the realm, to hand it over to me or another high lord, and create something for yourself. He's telling you that you're not worthy of his accomplishments as the First Lord."

"You mean," Fischer began, dragging himself through the hurt and the bitterness and the anger to force the words out. "What, but that he was, um, disappointed?"

"I'm sorry, Robert," Browning finally said. "He's wrong. You don't need to give away your title or your inheritance. You can build a better realm than he ever did."

Cobb stepped in immediately. "Princeps? He's lying."

Fischer asked how he knew, but Cobb brushed it off with a _trust me it's what I do_.

"He's hiding something," Cobb continued, laying the groundwork for what had to come next. They had already painted Browning as the villain, now they needed to get Fischer on their side in a more proactive sense. Fischer was a hero on a quest; he would defeat the monster and he would win the prize he sought- in this case, some form of reconciliation with his father.

Cobb heard sounds of movement; no doubt it was Eames and Saito coming through the broken door.

Eames, he was sure, would move to help Arthur secure and sedate the projection of Browning. Saito, still posing as the slave, would move away from them and quietly observe the interaction between Robert and Cobb.

Cobb took a breath after explaining their need to use the dream sorcery against Browning, how it would help them learn the secret he was hiding. Now Cobb needed to bring Saito back to the forefront of Fischer's mind. Little late on the second level, but it would be now or never.

Cobb looked over Fischer's shoulder and spotted Saito.

"You," Cobb said, indicating Saito. "What are you doing here?"

Fischer turned around and spotted Saito. He visibly paled, just for a moment, before regaining some of his composure.

"That's my-" Fischer cringed at the word, he cringed at it hard. He finally spat it out. "Slave. He has been with my family for years."

Cobb looked between the two. He hadn't had much else to go on but Saito's word for how their unfortunate master and slave relationship operated. There was the fear, the resentment, the knowledge that what Fischer had done was wrong, and that if he hadn't been ordered to do this by his father, they wouldn't be in this situation.

"Is he accompanying you?"

Fischer jerked and snapped his attention back to Cobb.

"What? No, no," Fischer said, watching as the lines to the PASIV were passed around, as members of the team prepared to hook themselves up to the device.

Cobb pressed him, watching carefully. "But if you don't require him, why don't you let him go?"

Saito's eyes widened at those words. Fischer froze in place and for a few breaths, absolutely _no one_ said anything.

The idea had been offered, the concept was fairly simple- it may not have as strong an effect only two levels down, but it was worth a try. Saito, who was only collared in an attempt to curtail his power as a competing energy conglomerate, represented more than just a symbol of the Fischer's power. But what did Saito represent to _Robert Fischer_?

With Fischer standing as the only person capable of giving him back his freedom, what was stopping him from releasing Saito now that his father had passed away?

His own conflicted feelings for his father were effecting his decisions where Saito was concerned. Perhaps, the closer he came to a resolution of his problems with his father, the closer he'd come to releasing Saito.

And if he didn't do that, Cobb had a sneaking suspicion that Arthur or Eames (or even both of them) might take the matter into their own hands and force Fischer to release Saito once they were topside again.

Well, if _any_ of them made it back topside again, that is…

Fischer cleared his throat, looking at Saito first, then back to Cobb.

"He's coming along, too."

* * *

Fischer was passed out on the bed and Arthur was getting another line ready so he could help Eames, who was lying on the floor.

He knelt there, pressing his fingers against the cool metal of Eames's armor, vanishing it with a thought so neither would have to undo the buckles or leather straps that kept it affixed to his forearm. Arthur just needed access to Eames's wrist so he could press the needle in, double checking the safety strap around the man's wrist.

"Security's gonna run you down hard," Eames was saying to Arthur as he worked.

"And I will lead them on a merry chase." Arthur answered before he made a very small, very slight gesture with one hand. The aircrafting Arthur had just put in place would make their conversation as private as possible, considering the size of the room and the number of people around them.

"If you die down there," Arthur said softly, "I'm gonna get _really_ pissed off."

Eames smirked a little. "Does that mean I can be pissed off if you die here?"

Arthur nodded. "We can both be pissed off in Limbo, together." And then after a second, he added, "But I'd rather you didn't die on your level. I'd rather you managed to come back topside with me."

"Just me? Not everybody else?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course I want everyone to survive this crazy job. I want Fischer to set Saito free, I want Ariadne to back to her normal life, I even want Yusuf to have his chance to apologize properly to Ariadne."

"You were just awake enough to hear that bit of their conversation, weren't you? And just so you know, darling, I called it!"

"I also want Cobb to get back to his children."

Eames looked up at Arthur, considering. "Are you going to go back with him when this is over? Are you going to go play best friend to Cobb and awesome uncle to the children?"

Arthur smiled. "I'll see that he's settled. I'll visit the children. I'll give Phillipa her flying lessons when the time comes, I'll build earthcrafted castles and houses and cities in the dirt with James. But I won't live there like I used to. I'll visit for birthdays and holidays, I'll call just to say hello. Cobb should understand now. It's been so long, but I need to move on. I understand why you ran, before. I get that. But I meant what I said- after this job, I intend to start over with you. And if you ever have to run again, you'll be running with me at your side, watching your back."

"And you'll cross-stitch for me."

Arthur nodded solemnly and then ruined it by smiling like he was years younger than he actually was. "I can't wait."

Then he gestured again and the windcrafting was dispersed. Still close, Eames lying on the ground and Arthur kneeling at his side, the forger said, "Just be back before the kick."

If anyone was watching them or listening, they didn't appear to care.

So Arthur leaned in and pressed two fingers against the forger's temple. He called on his water fury and whispered in the forger's ear.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

It was just a light touch, but Eames was out in seconds, still smiling a little.

Arthur stood up and checked on the rest of the team, most of them already getting as relaxed as possible, having already secured their lines.

Cobb was sitting facing away from the rest of the room, watching the curtains of the window nearest him billow, blown by the wind.

"You good?" Arthur asked the extractor. When Cobb said nothing at first, not even finished securing his line, Arthur asked again.

Cobb came back to himself, reassuring Arthur that he was ready, that he was fine. He finished securing his line and waited.

Arthur frowned just a bit, but nodded to himself. He pressed the button and let his teammates drop down to the third level.


	14. Chapter 14

A.N: Almost there. We're almost there! I'm making handwavy gestures and ignoring certain limitations of furycrafting to make things happen!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the Codex Alera.

Arthur looked around at his sleeping team. All seemed well, everything was accounted for and-

There was a resounding _thump_ that shook the room.

* * *

A man on a horse was trying to set Yusuf's coach on fire. Even in the pouring rain, the flame was bright and strong!

The horseman had wreathed his sword in fire and was taking a few swings at Yusuf's coach, and then a couple more at the chemist's bowed head.

Yusuf yelled and tried to maneuver his coach out of the way. But the horses had caught the scent of burning, the scent of fire, and fought against the chemist's control.

They began to run faster, the fear getting to the poor, over-worked animals.

Yusuf immediately began to curse.

"Of all the times to need earthcrafting," Yusuf was saying. "Of all the times to need stupid, stupid earthcrafting!"

Because without earthcrafting, he'd never be able to soothe the horses and get them under his control.

And they were going faster than was safe. They were going faster than was safe as they were approaching the next turn. After that there would be an incline in the road. He'd memorized the maze and knew that if he took this particular road, he'd have to time it exactly or end up missing his turn and get trapped in a dead-end.

Yusuf would have to think fast.

* * *

After removing his scarlet half cape and dropping it on the floor, Arthur secured the PASIV by closing the lid.

Then he double-checked his weapon. If he was using a gun (and he _really_ did miss his gun) he'd have taken this moment to reassure himself that it was loaded and functional. Now that he was using a _gladius_ all he had to do was firmly grasp the hilt of the sword and call on his metalcrafting. Through the crafting he could tell that the sword was in perfect shape- that it had been crafted with care and skill, so it shouldn't break or shatter if he were to meet another in battle.

He took a moment to pull the sword from its scabbard and then just as quickly, used his metalcrafting to slip it back in without stabbing himself in the thigh, without missing the scabbard at all. He took a deep breath for calm and composure and then opened the door.

Once he was in the hall, Arthur locked the door up tight, not wanting any curious security projections to stumble upon his sleeping team.

No, Arthur walked down the hall towards the stairs, ready to draw the security projections away from this level.

But the door to the staircase had begun to open- surrounded by so much stone, Arthur wouldn't be able to reliably call on his aircrafting for speed to evade what would clearly be an enemy projection. As the door opened and revealed a _legionare_ , Arthur made it a point to not make eye contact and took the right turn that would lead away from the stairs.

Unfortunately, the _legionare_ followed after the point man. It would look like Arthur would have to make good on his last words to Eames. He was going to lead them all on a _merry_ chase.

He immediately called on his earthcrafting, drawing power from the stone floors so he could begin to race down the hall, gaining endurance and strength from his contact with the ground.

The _legionare_ cursed and did the same, but not before Arthur had taken the lead.

* * *

After a moment, Yusuf dreamed up the perfect weapon. A wooden stave appeared in his hand.

Yusuf allowed the horseman with the fiery sword to come closer as he called on his woodfury. The wooden stave began to bend itself back, bending almost in _half_. Once the horseman was within striking distance, Yusuf released the crafting on the stave.

With an explosive amount of force, the stave bent back into its proper shape, but not before it slammed into the horseman.

The force of the blow nearly took the man off his horse; it stunned him and made him drop his _gladius_. Yusuf used this opportunity to unseat him, sending the poor bastard falling to the ground as his horse continued to run.

* * *

Arthur was running at a good rate, using his crafting to stay aware of the number of _legionares_ pursuing him. He still had the original pursuer gaining on him, and a now second that had followed after the first.

Arthur ducked around the corner, hoping to draw his weapon and get rid of at least _one_ of them.

But as Arthur got one hand on the hilt of his _gladius_ , the _legionare_ appeared around the corner and tried to stop Arthur from drawing the weapon. The point man grit his teeth as the _legionare_ grabbed his sword arm and forced the blade up and away from his body as he _dragged_ Arthur back into the hall where the second _legionare_ could see him.

That _legionare_ was already calling on his crafting, reaching out with one hand to direct his attack. With his earthcrafting, the _legionare_ was forcing the stone floor to rise up, shifting like a wave that would travel the length of the hall until it broke. On _Arthur._

* * *

Another horseman, this one armed with a bow, drew and fired on Yusuf's coach.

The man knocked open windows, shattered glass, and narrowly avoided hitting anyone in the coach. It appeared that the man was going to rectify that as he drew another arrow from the quiver he wore on one shoulder.

But Yusuf caught sight of him. Returning his attention on the road, the chemist waved one hand and called on his woodcrafting; it forced the arrow to _jump_ out of the bowman's hand before coiling around his arm like a snake. The arrow positively slithered up the man's arm until it reached the poor fool's neck.

With another flexing of his power, Yusuf forced the arrow to constrict around the man's throat, cutting off his air. But still, the man clung on, having dropped his bow to try and rip the arrow from its place around his neck.

Not taking his eyes off the road, Yusuf spotted another coach speeding along, ready to cut him off and box him in so the pursuing projections could disable him, rip apart his coach, and then kill his sleeping passengers.

Timing it exactly, Yusuf suddenly reigned in his horses, the coach coming to a stop as the rain poured over the streets of Alera Imperia.

The man on the horse, still trying to remove the arrow, didn't stop in time to avoid the oncoming coach- he was knocked from his horse and nearly took the coach driver with him!

But only nearly.

Yusuf called to his horses, urging them to move once again, gaining speed and taking another sharp turn.

* * *

The gravity shifts were a blessing in disguise.

Initially thrown to the ground with his attacker, Arthur was able to push the man away as the second shift hit; the second _legionare_ was forced to break his original crafting to drive his fingers through the stone walls in order to keep from falling. And the first _legionare_ was thrown down the adjoining hall, screaming as he fell.

Arthur was left to cling to the wall like the remaining projection, regaining his balance and standing next to a furylamp which still burned within its fixture.

* * *

Yusuf had reached the incline- he was getting closer to the bridge! But another coach had slammed into his.

Seeing no other options, Yusuf let go of the reins and used his woodcrafting to break the axles and poles keeping the horses attached and in line with his coach.

He was glad he did; the other coach slammed into his again, forcing his off the side of the road where it began to tumble down the side.

The chemist screamed and pressed himself against the PASIV lashed to the driver's seat, hoping to protect it from the fall.

The coach began to _roll_.

* * *

The hallway was beginning to turn.

Arthur had already gotten to his feet, standing next to the furylamps mounted on the walls.

As the _legionare_ clung to the wall, slipping down as he couldn't fight against the shift in gravity or maintain his hold, Arthur began to run!

He called on his earth fury for strength, using his aircrafting just a bit for what limited speed and agility he could manage in what amounted to a box of stone. He avoided tripping on the furylamps, running at an angle to keep up with the way the hall was spinning.

He dealt with the stuttering of his earthcrafting when he had to run across the wooden doorways and avoid tripping over doorknobs, feeling his strength rush back into him once he landed on the stone floor again, scrambling to get to the _legionare_ before the projection could reach for a weapon or call on his own crafting again.

They made contact and Arthur used his furycrafted strength to punch the projection in the face, forcing the _gladius_ the projection had managed to draw from his scabbard falling to the ground, useless to either as it slid away from both and hit the wall.

Arthur threw the _legionare_ , allowing their shifting environment do some of the work, making the man slam into the wall _hard_ as gravity shifted through another turn. Arthur allowed himself a half-second to mentally curse over what Yusuf was running into one dream level away.

They wrestled. They fought their way down the wall. Then as they fought on the ceiling, Arthur kicked the _legionare_ using his furycrafted strength! Forced to spring and jump to keep aligned with the spinning hall, Arthur and the _legionare_ came together and fought for the _gladius_ only to fall headlong into one of the doors that lead to a room for rent in the pleasure house.

Their combined weight forced them through, breaking the door open and letting them fall into the vacant room.

Complementary stationary flying around them, Arthur landed atop the _legionare_ , pressing the armored man against the stone wall with crushing force.

Feeling the _legionare's_ frantic crafting, Arthur removed his fingers from the stone wall before the stone could rise up and fold over them, effectively restraining him.

He changed his hold, grabbing the _legionare_ by his armor and punching him in the face once more.

If Arthur had thought that the spinning hallway was a nuisance, he was learning that the spinning _room_ was worse. It was smaller, but full of heavy objects that appeared to have been lashed or bolted to the floor to prevent theft. It didn't mean that they weren't dangerous, though. Getting thrown against a dresser with enough force to break his back, Arthur was able to draw on just a little windcrafting, just a little, to cushion his fall. Nothing more, though.

 _I want to fly, I want to fly, I want to fly,_ Arthur thought hard, grunting as he was grabbed and thrown against the wall by the _legionare_. They tumbled and fell and fought!

Then Arthur's metalcrafting positively _screamed_ as the _gladius_ went slipping by on the floor.

He lunged for it, slapping at it with his fingers, unmindful of the cuts he'd get from the sharp blade…and he missed!

Together, he and the _legionare_ were scaling the wall above the bed's headboard, falling as the room turned, making it so Arthur landed on the mattress with the _legionare_ trying to pin him in place and beat him senseless. The point man got one foot against the _legionare's_ lorica and kicked him, pushing him up and away so the man would be forced to fly into the ceiling as the gravity shifted again. Sensing where the _gladius_ had landed somewhere on the floor, Arthur twisted and tumbled off of the bed, aiming for the wall where the _gladius_ would be sliding with the latest turn.

He rolled when he hit the floor, laying flat on his stomach and reaching for the _gladius_ as it slid his way.

Once he had his hand on the weapon, he focused on it with his metalcrafting, honing the blade and making it diamond hard and plenty sharp.

The _legionare_ spotted his stolen weapon in Arthur's hand and jumped as the room continued to spin. The _legionare_ hit the ground and reached for Arthur just as the point man forced the _gladius_ through the projection's lorica, slicing through the layers of steel as if they were cobwebs. The _legionare_ arched with the powerful blow and the blade slipped neatly through his armored back, lethal and bloody.

The projection spasmed and thrashed but soon went still, laying half on top of the point man that breathed heavily and waited for the projection's death rattle.

As soon as he heard it, Arthur removed the blade and got to his feet. He stole the dead projection's blade and cleaned the blood off of it with the bedspread.

The room was silent and still; for now there would be no more shifts in gravity.

Hopefully.

Arthur quickly sheathed his stolen _gladius_ and exited the room.

* * *

The coach, reinforced by Yusuf's woodcrafting during the fall, came to a complete stop at the bottom of the slope, leaving them safely on an empty road that would _still_ get them to the bridge.

After checking that the PASIV was okay, Yusuf finally began to laugh about the ridiculous, tumbling fall. He just wanted to laugh because he'd come out of it alive!

He was tempted to open the curtain and speak to the dreaming passengers, something like, _Did you see that?_

Surviving this was possibly one of the most badass things he'd ever done…

From his spot on the driver's seat, Yusuf could see where the horses stood on the road he had just fallen from. They appeared to be unharmed, even whickering at the sight of him so far down below.

Sighing, Yusuf climbed down from the driver's seat and grasped his stave, a useful improvised weapon.

He paused only long enough to gather what looked to be grass from the roadside, sprinkling it on the coach's roof as well as in a circle around it. Then, he called on his woodcrafting, creating a camouflage similar to what was done on their warehouse roof. Now he'd kill for some of Arthur's crummy, half-dead plants and trees!

But this would have to do as he tried to wrangle the horses and repaired the damages to their rigging.

* * *

"Can you give us a better view, Eames?"

The forger, still in heavy Legion armor, stomped his way through the snow and made it to Cobb's side.

"I told you it's not my strong suit," Eames said. "My aircrafting is _nothing_ next to Arthur's."

"I'm not asking you to fly down there, I just want a sightcrafting."

"W-what's t-that?" Ariadne asked. She wearing a set of flying leathers layered with steel to give her some protection, while not inhibiting her ability to move or run. Even though this was a dream, she didn't need to be hindered by such heavy armor.

It didn't change the fact that she felt like she was freezing, heavy cloak be damned. She stomped around, hoping to get her blood to circulate better in this environment.

"A competent aircrafter can use their fury to craft something of a lens to bend the light and magnify their view." Eames shrugged. "And I'm not the most competent aircrafter. If I were better at it, I'd include it on my CV."

"Arthur," Ariadne said, proud that her teeth didn't chatter and gift the point man's name with a couple more vowels. "Arthur said that you were paired together to strengthen your crafting."

Before Eames could answer, Cobb interrupted them. "I know for a fact that Arthur was able to walk you through a basic sightcrafting."

Resigned, Eames held up his hands, framing an empty section of air half a foot or so from his body. At first, nothing happened. Then, brow furrowed, Eames called to his hesitant, weak little wind fury, asking it to bend the light.

There was a flicker, a shine, and then from the space between Eames's hands was a magnified view of the Legion camp down below.

Ariadne moved aside so Cobb could look through the crafting, directing the forger to move his hands to pan around, looking for obstacles or enemies.

"What do you see," she asked.

"A fully functional Legion camp," Cobb answered before speaking to the forger. "Eames, this is your dream."

The forger nodded, not commenting on how he could have possibly forgotten, and instead answered, "I expect that you'd like me to distract them?"

"It's High Lord Browning's first Legion," Cobb said. "As a High Lord, he'd have two more Legions at his disposal to protect his city or engage a larger enemy with the help of another High Lord. We don't know how far away those two Legions are, so be on your guard."

Cobb looked to be doing the math. "One Legion has ten cohorts so we're looking at over five thousand _legionares_."

Fischer coughed, looking uncomfortable in his Legion armor. "It's more likely that there's five thousand one hundred and two _legionares_ , Sir Charles."

Eames sighed. "That's great. I get to shake up a hornets' nest that possibly has over five thousand angry _legionares_ inside it."

When Fischer looked over at him, eyebrow raised, Eames refused to correct himself. "Sorry, adding the one hundred and two extra _legionares_ doesn't improve my outlook, Your Highness. I like to keep it simple."

Before an argument could be started on top of the snowy outcropping they were scouting the Legion camp from, Cobb moved on from talk of the number of _legionares_ they would be faced with to the plan of attack.

He turned to Eames. "I need you to draw the guards along the wall and those posted at the gates away from their positions. Do you understand?"

Eames removed his helmet and brushed a bead of sweat off his brow. "Who guides the Princeps in?"

Cobb immediately shook his head and adjusted his own gear, double checking the strap under his chin that kept his helmet in place, adjusting the angle of his sword so it would slide smoothly from the scabbard.

"No, not me. If I know the route, everything could be compromised."

Ariadne raised her hand, stepping forwards to volunteer, still shivering from the cold. "I designed the place."

Once again, Cobb shook his head. It was clear that he didn't trust himself alone and was appointing her as his unofficial guardian. Ariadne supposed she had asked for it after what she'd said on the first level, explaining that she was only helping him because the others didn't know what they'd gotten themselves into.

"I could do it," Saito said.

Dressed for the cold but not armed for battle, the discipline collar visible above the neckline of his shirt and the heavy cloak he wore, Saito volunteered without hesitation.

Cobb nodded and turned to Eames, ordering him to brief Saito on the route into the Legion camp and instructing Fischer to go with Saito.

"All right," Fischer said, "but what about you?"

Cobb said, "You will infiltrate the hospital at the center of the Legion camp. The windows on the upper level are big enough that I can cover you from the south tower on the Legion wall. Do you see it?"

"Yeah, I see it. But you're not coming in?"

The look on Fischer's face practically screamed that he wanted a little hand-holding. Cobb wouldn't do that- he _couldn't_ do that. If he could also slip in another suggestion to Fischer's subconscious mind after he'd incepted him with _I will split up my father's empire_ and _I will free Saito_ , Cobb was tempted to add in, _I will go to a therapist._

"In order to find out the truth about your father you're going to need to break into Lord Browning's mind on your own," Cobb advised. That was good; it reinforced the pertinent themes of Fischer's life up till now. Fischer needed to prove to himself, and now (from Fischer's point of view) to _Cobb,_ that he was capable of doing this. That he could take power for himself and no longer linger in his father's shadow…

Fischer finally nodded his agreement. He made some final adjustments to his own weapon and helmet and moved to Saito's side.

Ariadne had begun to shiver again, cursing silently to herself. "Don't tell me we're going to walk through the snow."

Cobb shook his head.

"We're gonna ski?"

Eames chuckled, but he shook his head, too.

"While I agree that it would be excellent fun, I have something better in mind. A crafter with as much earthcrafting as you will appreciate it."

Ariadne refused to hug herself for warmth. If Eames could take the cold, if Cobb could take the cold, hell, if _Saito_ could take the cold, so could she!

"Can't earthcraft through so much snow and ice, it's too hard for A'tuin. I can't draw strength and I can't run…well, maybe a little but I'd probably break my neck."

Eames smiled for her. "No need to go to Limbo just yet. You'll feel better soon- it's not your fault that your crafting won't allow you to retain your warmth. With me, I can use my water fury to make my blood flow steadily throughout my body or reduce the sensation of cold from the snow so I can stay warm. With Cobb, he can use a basic firecrafting."

Ariadne wondered if she could get away with hugging Cobb and leeching some heat, or if she'd accidentally freeze to the man's armor.

Cobb must have caught the look on her face as she considered it. "It's an internalized crafting. I'm actually controlling how much heat leaves my body, so you wouldn't catch very much."

She sighed and turned to Eames once again.

"Tell me how I'm going to feel better."

Eames grinned. "You're going to be out of the snow for the most part."

Then he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Five horses, already saddled and bright-eyed, approached through the snow towards them, likely dreamed up by Eames as a means of transportation.

"Any earthcrafter worth their salt can command a horse. I've got earthcrafting, Fischer's got earthcrafting, Cobb has earthcrafting, and so do you. You'll be able to gain strength through the horse and it's contact with the ground, traveling will be faster than on foot, and you'll be able to save your energy for greater efforts later."

As he spoke, the others approached their mounts, taking a moment to familiarize themselves with the dreamed up beasts before getting into the saddle.

Saito mounted in a smooth motion that spoke of having previous experience riding a horse, maybe. But he spent a moment afterwards coughing up blood and spitting onto the snowy ground. Eames shared a brief, worried look with him, but Saito waved him away.

Ariadne mounted her horse, finding the saddle as comfortable as it was likely to be, even in a dream. She stayed with Cobb as Eames rode off; they watched as Saito led Fischer away, calling over his shoulder as his horse began to trot.

"Come on, Princeps Robert!"

* * *

Yusuf had found the horses and made the repairs to his coach, breaking the crafting which hid the coach from view and hopped up onto the driver's seat once more.

It didn't take him long to reach the bridge, a hulking wooden structure that he could feel the thrumming of several craftings that protected it from elemental damage and strengthened the beams and deck. As the horses pulled the coach onto the bridge, Yusuf reached out with his woodcrafting and tested the structure.

And there it was, further ahead.

Crafted into the design, lurking like a virus, were the flaws that Ariadne had built into the bridge.

Areas that would succumb to pressure, a spot that where the wood would shatter at the touch of Yusuf's woodcrafting. He'd be able to drive the coach off the bridge and into the water.

But as he made it onto the bridge, he noticed something strange. He stopped his coach and looked over his shoulder to watch as several men were diving out of the coach that had followed him onto the bridge. It had also come to a complete stop, too.

Once the men hit the deck they immediately dropped to their knees to press their hands against the planks, eyes closed, murmuring softly to their furies.

Yusuf couldn't tell for sure _what_ they were saying, but when he felt the deck begin to shudder, he was worried that the words might have included the command of _rise_.

Working together, these woodcrafters forced the deck to rise up, as the furies built within this bridge might do if a boat with a tall-mast were to attempt to travel down the waterway and go underneath the bridge. Yusuf knew that in real life this could be accomplished with towers and cantilevers or hydraulic jacks; that those bridges were called vertical-lift bridges.

But he experienced a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realized how high up they were going. That there was no ship passing underneath the bridge and that the projections had only used the feature to trap him up there…

Unable to run from the men in the coach, Yusuf cursed as the woodcrafters got to their feet and drew their weapons- woodcrafters of their skill would have to be excellent archers capable of making their arrows fly faster, making their bows bend back further.

Each shot would be true and lethal and Yusuf could only divert the path of so many arrows.

As the woodcrafters drew back on their bows, ready to send a volley his way, Yusuf did the only thing he could think of.

He cursed.

* * *

Eames had never ridden a horse in his life, but he figured that when dreaming, experience didn't matter much. It was all about imagination.

He'd seen movies that featured people riding horses, he'd read books where the heroes rode horses. It was all about one's state of mind.

Though he did admit that he would have been _amazing_ on skis. Like James Bond or something. Shaking his head at the silly thought, Eames got back to work. He had a hornets' nest to shake-up!

He manifested his bow, the arrow already in his hand. He focused on the sharp arrowhead and pulled a metalcrafting trick he'd practiced once or twice with Arthur. Firecrafters aren't the only ones who can make stuff burn, Eames thought as he made the arrowhead catch flame, becoming a bright, destructive, and _very_ distracting nuisance for whomever he shot it at!

Seated on his horse, which stood on a tree-lined, snowy spot roughly a mile away from the Legion camp, Eames drew on his bow.

Calling on his woodcrafting, Eames took a deep breath and began to strengthen the wooden bow, allowing himself to pull the string further back. He chose the perfect spot for the flaming arrow.

Then he released it.

The arrow positively zoomed upwards and away, appearing well within the sight of any guards at the gate or on the Legion wall.

It was like a falling star, catching the attention of several armed _legionares_ , as it landed on the wall.

The reaction was an explosion of activity.

 _Legionares_ spilled from the gates like angry ants, a couple launching themselves from the wall and calling windstreams, taking to the air to spot their threat.

After another moment, he could hear horns being blown, _centurions_ calling their cohorts together, and finally, the drumming of hooves as the cavalry was called. They must have figured they'd cover more ground on horseback, rather than marching their way through the snow.

Eames smiled to himself and smoothly slipped the bow over his shoulder.

"Let's give our young Princeps a good start," Eames was saying to his horse, calling on his earthcrafting, and riding away from the cover of the trees.

He might have been able to hide himself a little longer with his woodcrafting, but he wouldn't want to risk running into _their_ woodcrafters.

Those _legionares_ wouldn't be squeamish- they'd command their furies to slip into the trees and the urge boughs and branches to become grasping, clenching hands with sharp nailed fingers.

If they got the chance they'd use their crafting to first restrain him, and then rip him _and_ his horse into bloody bits and pieces.

Eames increased the pace, urging the horse to run faster and get them as far away from the trees as possible.

 _I really would have preferred skis,_ Eames thought.

* * *

"Sod it!" The chemist yelled as he slipped off the driver's bench. The archers released their craftings and let the arrows fly!

As he ran to the coach doors, Yusuf screamed to his woodfury and waved his hand, out and away, forcing the arrows to alter their path just slightly.

There were several near misses; a line of arrows punched through the body of the coach, following Yusuf as he ran, the last of which nearly pinked his arm and attached him to the coach by his shirt, much like a bug on a board. He ripped his shirt away from the arrow, revealing a long and bloody wound where the arrow grazed him before sinking into the wooden door the chemist was trying to open.

He managed it, slamming it closed before the archers could reload.

But they would. They'd do it! And they'd shoot his horses. And he'd never manage the kick without the blasted horses!

He slowed his breathing and pressed his hand against one of the walls of the coach, trying to strengthen the wooden body before doing what he had to.

Before, during the planning stages, there had been an argument over how they would manage the musical countdowns if they were going to attempt to make the dreams historically accurate. It was hard. Eames had joked that maybe they could actually just sing the song to whoever they were trying to warn.

Arthur hadn't been impressed by Eames's argument of: "But you've woken me up like that!"

Yusuf hadn't been impressed, either. He wasn't much of a singer, so he'd probably have to _say_ them. And because of his habit of trying to be quiet around other dreamers, Yusuf would end up unintentionally whispering. There was something a little too personal about it. Whispering the words to a French song in his point man's ear didn't appeal to the chemist at all.

So, the singing (or whispering) of _Non_ , _Je Ne Regrette_ was removed as a solution to the problem. Instead, they went with what they usually did, rationalizing that Fischer would be asleep anyway and wouldn't notice it if they used an electronic device with headphones to play the song that timed the kicks.

Hidden and safe within a secret compartment, Yusuf removed the device and headphones, carefully climbing around his sleeping team so he could reach Arthur.

Yusuf placed the headphones on the point man's head, adjusting them so that the earpieces fit properly, then laid the device against Arthur chest.

He then checked on Saito. The man was still and quiet, dreaming as deep as the others were, but his tunic was wet with fresh blood. Yusuf touched the client's shoulder, wishing that he had a little watercrafting so he could sense what was happening. But he didn't need watercrafting to tell him that the infection was spreading and getting worse. He could tell that from the smell alone.

Yusuf went back to the front of the coach and picked up the music player he'd left sitting on Arthur's chest. He pressed a few buttons and said, "I hope you're ready."

* * *

Arthur was running down the stairs, trying to reach the fourth floor. Suddenly, the staircase was filled with the echoes of music, much louder than the sound of his own footsteps.

He stopped and looked upwards, unable to stop himself from looking above. He knew that the sound wasn't generated in his dream; it wasn't a few floors up. It was coming from the first level. Yusuf was warning him about the kick.

But it was way too early.

"No," Arthur said to himself, still looking back the way he'd come. "It's too soon."

* * *

Cobb had stopped several times during their ride to use his firecrafting to melt the snow.

Ariadne learned why when she heard a familiar voice coming from the latest of these sort of slushy pools of water. Cobb got off his horse and moved closer to this pool, kneeling down and looking within it.

There wasn't much to see. There wasn't enough liquid for Eames's water fury to manifest or create a liquid statue of their forger. But his voice was coming through clearly.

 _"_ _Cobb, do you hear that?"_ Eames was saying softly. _"_ _I first noticed it about twenty minutes ago. I thought it was the wind up here."_

But it was clearly music. Cobb said as much to Eames.

Their conversation was brief; they had to move fast because the music signaled Yusuf's impending kick.

Yusuf was ten seconds away from driving them off the bridge, giving Arthur only three minutes to drop them on his level.

"That gives us sixty minutes," Ariadne added in. If they had time, Cobb might have complimented her on her quick math skills.

But they only had an hour.

That left Cobb needing to ask an important question.

"Can they make it in an hour?" Cobb asked, obviously referencing Fischer and Saito.

Ariadne thought about it. "The hospital is at the center of the Legion camp. They'll have to get through or _over_ the Legion wall and bypass the tents housing _legionares_ and _centurions."_

Cobb shook his head. They needed a more direct route. Something to get Fischer into the Legion camp faster.

"They need a new route."

Ariadne didn't know what to tell him. "It's designed as a labyrinth."

From the frosty pool Cobb had created, the twangs of fired arrows arose. Eames had left the line open.

"Eames?"

There was the sound of a _gladius_ being drawn, the clash of weapons, and then after a few breaths of strained silence, Eames answered.

" _I'm here! I can't hold this position for very long. The bleeding bodies of_ legionares _are a dead giveaway that something's wrong."_

"There must be access routes that cut through the maze," Cobb was saying to Ariadne.

" _Ah, that's probably not a good idea, Cobb."_

"I'm not asking for your opinion, Eames."

Cobb waited. Ironically, so did Eames.

* * *

Eames pressed his hand against the snow, continuing to will it into a more liquid form, speaking to the furies within and urging them into motion, forcing the atoms within the frozen water to move and shift. Watercrafting the ice to slush, and the slush to enough water for a watercrafted message was rather tedious work.

He felt more than heard another person approach him while his back was turned, focused on maintaining the pool so he could continue to speak to Cobb.

With a flick of his wrist, Eames sent his water fury lurking within the snow to shift a nearby snow bank at this intruder like a wave. There was the sizzling hiss of melting snow as the intruder carrying a flaming sword (judging from the sound and the amount of steam produced) was buried deep under the snow.

This wouldn't hold him for long, Eames knew. He could already sense the _legionare_ beginning to call on his firecrafting; warming his body and preparing to launch himself from the snow by surrounding himself with an aura of flames.

The snow Eames would be able to manipulate with his crafting would become steam, leaving him little he could work with. He sighed. If he could get close enough and surprise him, he might be able to force him to sleep.

But he was still waiting for an answer on Cobb's end.

" _Did Eames add in any features?"_ Eames heard Cobb ask Ariadne. He took his hand away from the pool and divided his attention between it and the _legionare_ who had seared the earth and melted the snow around him in a circle about three feet wide.

The _legionare_ looked very pleased with himself. The snow that had been stuck to his armor was now dripping off in rivulets water.

Both men drew their weapons, but Eames stopped to smile at his opponent. From behind him he could still hear Ariadne's voice from the pool. She was mentioning the addition he'd requested, his shortcut. He was surprised that Cobb hadn't thought of it himself.

* * *

Arthur made it back to the fourth floor and spotted a couple of _legionares_ waiting at the door to the room Arthur had carefully prepped for the kick.

"Hey!" Arthur shouted to them, startling them and forcing them to split up. One followed Arthur as he began to run back the way he came, back to the stairs.

* * *

Yusuf had exited the coach, spotting the woodcrafters already reloading. Knowing that he didn't have enough time to fight them all, Yusuf jumped into the driver's seat and prepared to force the coach over the side of the bridge.

* * *

Eames asked for a tunnel.

It would take him underground, beneath the Legion walls and through the camp. It ended just beneath the fortress of a hospital.

He could see how it would save Fischer and Saito time. And with Fischer's earthcrafting he'd be able to manage the tunnel _and_ manipulating the walls of the fortress. Earthcrafting was literally the key.

Not having the time for another drawn out battle, Eames flicked one wrist and called his fury from the snow- he bade her to collect herself in the melting water from the _legionare's_ armor and then launch herself at the man's face.

This surprised the _legionare_ enough that he dropped his sword and did what many did in response to such an attack; he clawed at his face, hoping to get the thin sheet of water off of his mouth, away from his nose.

Eames let the man sink to his knees and continue to suffocate, squeezing the hilt of his own sword to shield himself from the riot emotions screaming from the _legionare_.

He called on his metalcrafting and returned his attention to Cobb's voice as it rose from the pool.

The cold and logical space of mind his metalcrafting offered him allowed him to ignore his victim's pain while listening to his own name being called from the pool.

"Yes?" He said, certain that his voice sounded faraway and unconcerned, a strange effect of a good metalcrafting. _"Can you open a line to Saito and Fischer so Ariadne could explain the shortcut?"_

He hummed to himself, thinking of the distance, the difficulty in finding still, unfrozen water. He stretched his watercrafting senses and noticed for the first time the he felt…different.

Well, not _different_. Maybe the right word was _aware?_ There was something about being this far down in the dream that made him feel stronger…but if he understood the idea correctly, Yusuf's chemical had the effect of compounding certain aspects of the dreams- time, being one. Maybe their furycraft was another?

Eames focused and found them. Scaling down the side of a rock face, closer to the Legion camp…

* * *

With the Legion camp protected on all sides by rocky terrain, their only choice had been to abandon the horses and climb. The tempting earthcrafted path had been covered with _legionare_ projections that neither would be able to fight…well, at least not successfully.

Saito struggled, using rope and what remained of his strength, getting himself down the cliff by sheer force of will.

Fischer climbed steadily downwards a few paces away from him, keeping an eye and sometimes advising him to use different handholds or stronger sections of rock. No doubt, he could tell which would hold their weight, calling on his earthcrafting for the strength and endurance to make such a climb.

They were mostly silent, keeping their attention on the steady descent, though Saito knew that the young Princeps turned his head more than once to look at him, his attention caught by the glinting of the discipline collar Saito wore even in the dream.

 _He could take this collar off of me_ , Saito thought as he climbed down. _Or he could decide not to._ Then he had an even more worrisome thought- that he might not survive his wound, that he would die and drop to Limbo.

Saito grit his teeth and pushed the thought away, ignoring the burning of his chest, the pain that never left, or the way he could taste blood in his mouth, sharp and metallic.

He coughed, sick of trying to stop himself. Saito coughed and choked, not trying cough against his shoulder.

Saito coughed against the snow, leaving a bright spattering of red against the white.

And then, it began to speak to him.

" _Hello?"_ It was hard to hear this voice. It sounded so far away. The snow, or what little of it was there against this particular area, shifted and changed, appearing to melt. As it melted the voice became clearer. _"_ _Are you there?"_

Fischer was staring at it, mouthing: _bloodspeaking?_

Saito shook his head and cleared his throat, wincing in pain. This was a watercrafting, that much Saito was sure of. "Hello?" Saito answered.

There was a faraway sigh of relief. _"This is Eames, I'm going to get you in contact with Ariadne. She'll give you a new route to get into the Legion camp and the hospital."_

There was silence, until finally they heard the architect's voice instead.

 _"Saito?"_

The client nodded, not questing this development or use of furycrafting. "Go ahead."

* * *

Eames held the crafting, thinking of how strange it was to listen in as Ariadne gave them the exact directions for his shortcut. He had to stay focused on them. Eames chanced a look over his shoulder and spotted the still and silent body of the _legionare_. One less thing to worry about, Eames rationalized.

* * *

Yusuf snapped the horses' reins and waved one hand as the arrows were fired. Several hit the coach, but none hit him _or_ the horses. They were scared enough by the tension, by the fighting, that all it would take for them to go wild and lose their heads would be an arrow wound.

* * *

Arthur ran to the door to the stairs, once again. He threw open the door and ran down the stairs, the _legionare_ making it through the door as Arthur ran. Standing at the top of the stairs, the _legionare_ thrust his hand forward, forcing a powerful gust of wind to shove Arthur further down the stairs, almost throwing him face first against the wall!

But Arthur looked up, narrowed his eyes, grabbed the railings with both hands and jumped.

He raced _up_ the stairs and appeared just behind the confused _legionare_ , grabbing him by the back of his neck and leaning him forwards, allowing gravity to tug at his heavy armor.

"I think that you want to jump," Arthur was saying as he leaned the _legionare_ closer to the edge. There weren't stairs leading down anymore.

The _legionare's_ answer was clearly a big, fat, frightened no.

"All windcrafters can feel it you know? _L'appel du vide_ ," Arthur explained, saying the last bit in flawless French. "It's used to describe this instinctive urge to jump from high places."

Arthur leaned in and said, "Paradox."

Then he shoved the _legionare_ into the void his Penrose Steps had created, letting the man fall several flights down with a scream and a _thud!_

* * *

Yusuf got the coach moving, picking up speed as he approached the damaged section of the bridge- he called on his woodcrafting, focusing on the damage, making it worse, making it _weaker_ , as he forced the horses to run right into it.

That section of the bridge broke; the railing becoming nothing but firewood that rained down around the falling coach, sprinkling down to the water so far below.

Yusuf once more let the horses go, releasing the reins, undoing all the repairs he had done to the axles and poles keeping the horses attached to the coach.

He didn't want to hurt the horses- when they hit the water, maybe they'd be able to swim away and not drown once the coach sank to the bottom of the river…

Yusuf once again tried to protect the PASIV with his body, hung on, and tried to stay alive.

* * *

Arthur, who had been running down the hall, trying to get to the room where his team still slept, was suddenly thrown through the air as gravity shifted and then disappeared.

* * *

Eames could hear it. Well, with his watercrafting senses extended so wide, he could also technically _feel it_ , too. They had just had an avalanche. A big one.

* * *

Before the avalanche could snow both of them in, Fischer and Saito did the smart thing.

They cut their ropes and dropped down, down, down.

They tumbled and fell down the mountainside, the wave of snow racing after them.

Now they were at the bottom. They were winded, sore, and dumbstruck by the disaster that missed them so narrowly.

* * *

"What was that?" Ariadne asked, out of breath and still trying to soothe her mount. She used her earthcrafting to calm the beast and then forced herself to remain calm. Because even though she asked, she was pretty sure she knew what had happened.

"The kick," Cobb answered.

From the little melted pool of watery slush, Cobb could hear Eames yelling for him.

 _"_ _Cobb! Cobb, did we miss it?"_

"Yeah, we missed it," Cobb answered.

* * *

Fischer and Saito were just sorting themselves out after the fall.

Saito listened to Fischer's griping over dreaming up beaches. Saito's chest throbbed after the falling and rolling.

He could only manage to nod heavily at the man's complaints. He wasn't sure who to blame the snow on; would he blame Yusuf, because of the rain on the first level? Or Mr. Eames because he was the dreamer of this one? Or, even Fischer himself because this was the environment they found as they went deeper into his subconscious?

Saito wisely said nothing.

* * *

Cobb continued to listen for Eames's voice, still kneeling close to what amounted to a slushy puddle.

 _"_ _Well, what the hell do we do now?"_

Cobb stood and reached for his horse's reins, pulling the startled beast closer, using his own earthcrafting to calm it. "We have to finish the job before the next kick," Cobb said as he mounted his horse.

 _"_ _What next kick?"_

"When the coach hits the water!"

* * *

Arthur was floating in zero-gravity. Glad to have taken off his cape, the point man playing _singulare_ called on the smallest, gentlest windstream he could manage in the stone hall. Spot was barely visible when surrounded with this much stone, and at any other time, it would make what they were doing impossible.

One couldn't fly without a strong manifested wind fury. But if he could draw on the air in this hall, Arthur could push himself along and move faster than he would by constantly rebounding off of solid objects or pulling himself through the air using doorframes.

Flying passably, Arthur made it to room 528, unlocked the door and spotted all of his team mates floating around, attached to the closed PASIV case by their IV lines.

"How do I drop you without gravity?" Arthur said, thinking of the failure his original kick would be. He'd missed Yusuf's kick and now the coach was in free fall.

This would call for some quick planning. He needed to improvise a kick in an environment that had no gravity. He needed to create the sensation of falling in an environment without gravity.

He stopped what he was doing, no longer pushing himself along with the help of his fury. The idea struck him as funny in its simplicity.

Arthur smiled to himself. He knew what he needed to find. He had actually spotted it when he had chanced a look into the bar, seen the areas where the dancers would entertain the _legionares_ while they ate and drank.

But he'd need to change his appearance first. He'd need the help of some of the _legionares_ , especially those who made the grade of Knights Aeris.

Arthur floated towards a mirror that had floated off of its hook on the wall. He righted its position and forced it back onto the wall so that his hands would remain free.

He looked at his reflection and called on his water fury.

The little butterfly manifested for him, fluttering about before landing on his armored shoulder.

"Okay, dear," Arthur was saying to his fury. "I know this isn't our strong suit, but we've practiced this, just in case. Do you remember?"

The little fury didn't speak. She couldn't. But through their bond, Arthur was able to feel her agreement, her trust and deep affection for him.

"It'll be a good story to tell Mr. Eames," Arthur was saying in his own voice, not yet having forced a change. No, he'd do the easy part first. _  
_

It was always easier to watercraft the surface.

He ran his hands over his hair, making it a little longer than Legion regulation and a lighter shade of brunette, lighter than his own appeared. He blinked his eyes and they shifted from brown to blue.

He and the man he intended to mimic were of the same height, but Arthur still took that extra one quarter inch off of his height. He pressed his hands against his face, shaping it like clay- he sharpened his cheekbones, strengthened his jawline.

After a moment spent smoothing back his hair again and fixing a few flaws on his new face, Arthur ran his hands down his chest, flexed his arms, shifted his feet (even though he wouldn't be doing much walking) to get a feel for the changes he'd made to his body. He was still lean, maybe not as strong as before, but this would work. He'd call all the strength he needed from the earth. He still wore armor but it was of better quality and fit his new station.

Because he wasn't Arthur the _singulare_ anymore. He was the Princeps.

Now he really looked the part. Now he had to _sound_ the part, as well.

He pressed one long fingered hand against his throat and made an adjustment with his watercrafting; a fairly minor tweaking of his vocal cords, a slight shifting in timbre and pitch. He needed to test it out to be sure.

He gestured once for his little water fury to hide herself from view.

Clearing his throat, he looked at his new reflection and said in a different voice (one that he'd practiced and tried on after listening and listening to the audio from Fischer's interviews).

"Hello, I'm Princeps Robert," the new doppelganger said with a smile. "I will split up my father's empire."

Once he was certain that he had gotten the details right, Arthur as the Princeps floated towards the open door and yelled for his guards.


	15. Chapter 15

A.N- Almost there. With the way this is progressing, I'm thinking that we will complete the story with twenty chapters (if ending on an even number is that important to me, or if I really, truly want to add an epilogue). It may run into the first week of the semester, but I don't care. I swear I'm going to finish this!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

"Arthur has a couple minutes," Cobb was saying. "And we have about twenty."

* * *

Fischer and Saito made it to the Legion wall. There were no guards visible, but that didn't mean that they weren't further inside the camp or veiled by a crafting.

The Princeps immediately dropped to his knees and placed his hands on the cold ground.

There was a brief trembling of the earth under their feet.

"What's that?" Saito asked.

Not opening his eyes or breaking his position, Fischer answered shortly.

"Stone beneath the ground, we'll have to move around it as we tunnel. Now take a deep breath and stay close to me!"

Saito did as Fischer asked, grateful for the warning as they promptly sank through the cold earth without leaving a trace.

* * *

The Knights Aeris had spotted him.

Eames immediately drove his fist through the snow, through the cold, cold earth and begged his earth fury to bring him salt.

The armored windcrafters stayed aloft, joining hands and combining their power. One aircrafter could send a single bolt of lightning and kill Eames. But _four_ working together could throw multiple bolts down on Eames's head, leaving only a set of blackened armor and a very impressive crater where Eames used to stand.

He could feel it in the air- if he didn't have a helmet on, his hair would be responding to the changes in the air, to the electricity.

His earth fury gave his hand a nudge, filling the hand in the ground with the coarse grains of salt that would be his best defense again the Knights Aeris.

Eames ripped his hand from the earth, using his water fury to scour the ground of snow and leave it bare so he may draw strength and power from the earth.

And then Eames jumped!

It wasn't nearly high enough to reach the aircrafters. But it put him within reach of the swirling vortexes their furies created to keep them airborne.

Eames threw his large handful of salt, watching as the material gouged holes through the knights' windstreams, forcing their crafting to break. Their furies writhed in pain, their screams like the lonely howling of the wind on stormy nights.

Then the four knights crashed to the ground, now on an even playing field with Eames.

The forger pulled his _gladius_ from its sheath and prepared to fight the powerful crafters.

Because even though he'd snatched them out of the sky, it didn't mean the men weren't skilled with other forms of crafting.

This called for a distraction.

Eames called on his water fury, directing her to make the snow surrounding him rise up into the air and shift in a whirling gesture, cloaking him.

Now, this had the drawback of inhibiting his sight as well, but even as his fury kept the whirlwind of snow going, Eames extended his senses and searched for his enemies, searching for them by reading their emotions.

All of them were angry, of course. They had circled him, staying away from where the whirlwind was strongest, but still making a formation that reminded Eames of the spokes of a wheel.

Eames could feel the beginnings of a firecrafting from one and metalcrafting from the other three.

He decided to go after the firecrafter first.

* * *

They were moving underground; steady but not moving very fast, Fischer was keeping his attention on what his earth fury was telling him. Tunnelcrafting was strenuous and time-consuming.

Saito, to remain close enough to Fischer, had grabbed onto the other man's sword belt.

He was also drawing small breaths, as small as he could manage, because their air supply was limited. But he was also starting to get dizzy.

The collared client leaned against Fischer, who flinched when he felt the other man's weight against his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Fischer hissed. If he could move away from Saito, it was clear he would. The young man was uncomfortable with _any_ contact with him, had only allowed him to grasp his belt so he wouldn't slip out of the tunnelcrafting.

Saito managed to say, "I can't breathe, Your Highness."

Fischer hunched under Saito's weight. "It'll be fine. We've got a little more, maybe half a mile to go before we can make it to the surface."

Saito nodded heavily and continued to lean against the Princeps.

* * *

As he ran towards the firecrafter, Eames sent the whirlwind of snow at the three metalcrafters, blinding them temporarily.

Leaving them at his back, Eames stopped running and began to slide on the snow which had transformed into ice at his silent command. His forward momentum and the flat ground allowed Eames to move quickly without interruption- his boots weren't anything like ice-skates, but they did what he needed them to do while he caught the firecrafter by surprise.

Eames caused the crafter to hesitate for more than a second, delaying his initial move of setting his _gladius_ ablaze. Eames had slid his way into the man's guard, his drawn _gladius_ moving to strike at the man's exposed throat!

Instead of crafting his sword to catch flame, the knight staggered back and away from Eames's blow and directed a blast of fire from his hand to the snow and ice around their feet, which Eames had continued to manipulate during his attack. The snow and ice became steam that Eames had to direct away from them with another wave of his hand. It wouldn't do to let the knight have another weapon against him. Eames encouraged the steam to revert back to particles of water and fall back to the ground. It was bare now; no snow or ice remained on the blackened earth.

Eames immediately called on strength from the earth, smiling at the knight before he clenched his fist and punched him in the face.

With the power of his earthcrafting behind that punch, he felt _and_ heard the knight's neck snap.

The knight dropped to the ground and didn't move again. All in all, the battle had taken less than a minute.

Still feeling the power of his earthcrafting, Eames sent his fury into the ground to search for the three other crafters.

The veil of snow had dropped once Eames had to call on his earthcrafting, leaving him vulnerable to the skilled swordsmen. Within moments they had surrounded him, blades drawn.

What occurred next was like a complicated dance.

Taking steps and striking with his own _gladius_ , Eames had to avoid two while doing battle with one. His earthcrafting was giving him more power, but for that to be worth anything he'd need a maul or a sledgehammer instead of a _gladius_. But his blade was plenty sharp from his metalcrafting, drawing blood from the first knight who staggered back only to be replaced by the second or third man.

Watercrafting senses extended, Eames could have closed his eyes and sensed where the men were- but he had to watch them in order to glean what their next attacks might be. They were moving too fast for Eames to do more than take the defense, stepping back and away from them, keeping them in front of him.

After a few more slashes and wounds which drew blood from his other opponents, it was becoming clear that Eames was outmatched.

Cursing, Eames wished he had Arthur at his side. Together, they'd rip these men to ribbons! And later, when they got out of this mess, Arthur would most likely encourage Eames to practice more swordplay. Because having metalcraft didn't make one a master with a blade; having metalcraft didn't give a man abilities he hadn't cultivated before.

And even if they didn't use swords in their day to day lives, Arthur (who had been once been captain of his high school fencing team) would probably demand he practice so that he'd have the proper muscle memory, to make him faster in dreams.

He'd been counting. As he ducked and turned and fought, Eames had been counting the number of wounds he'd managed to give them.

Each man had a few bloody injuries to the unarmored parts of their bodies; a shallow slash across the cheek, the neck, or even the hand wielding their weapon, if Eames had been lucky enough to manage it.

Their injuries were minor, so they may not have needed to use their metalcrafting against the pain. But, the wounds still bleed freely which indicated they didn't have any watercrafting to heal them closed.

Eames had an idea.

* * *

Together, Fischer and Saito rose from the cold earth like Lazarus. Fischer was able to keep himself upright, looking worn from the effort of crafting them such a long distance, but Saito immediately collapsed once they made it to the surface.

Saito choked on the air, getting only so much in his lungs before he had to cough. Fischer moved to help him, noticing the blood that stained Saito's mouth.

"Are you okay?"

Saito took the corner of his cloak and rubbed it against his mouth, noticing the blood staining the front of his shirt. The pain, which hadn't exactly become _less_ intense the further down they went, ripped through him. He could swear that he was feeling it racing through his veins, tracing down them like fire.

He was going to die with Robert Fischer still his master. He was going to die without gaining his freedom. The years he fought against the collar and its subtle crafting; the pleasure he was treated to when he obeyed, the pain he grit his teeth through when he refused, it was steadily crumbling him to dust. He knew that there were people who went crazy after being collared for so long, that they never came back to themselves, that they'd lost something vital. And he was now worrying that maybe death would be better.

He shoved that ugly thought away.

Trying to call up something, as if he we're a crafter himself, trying to call up anything to help block the pain that was muddling his thoughts and strangling his resolve.

Saito didn't need a fury, he had strength of will. The collar gave him a nudge, a slight zinging of pain as he had waited too long to answer Fischer.

 _Answer, answer, answer_ , the collar's crafting hummed against his neck, tightening ever so slightly as he tried to breathe.

He nodded heavily for Fischer, feeling a slight release of tension from the collar, a slight buzz of pleasure, too. He was not able to speak yet. He'd probably spit blood when next he opened his mouth and that would be a big indication that something wasn't right. He gestured that Fischer should continue.

They had appeared at the base of the fortified hospital within the Legion camp. Built to be accessible using stairways, the hospital was suspended above ground by strong, supporting columns.

This type of structure inhibited them (or any other person attempting to break into the Legion hospital) from simply tunneling underneath the structure and coming up through the floorboards, if the hospital was made of wood. Breaking through the stone structure would prove to be difficult.

Fischer was eyeing the hospital above, perhaps calculating the amount of force needed to break through the stone.

Saito leaned against a support column and tried to catch his breath.

* * *

Eames spoke softly to his water fury.

"Inside," he commanded her, narrowing his eyes and directing her to enter the nearest man's body.

She did as he asked; silent, invisible as particles of water too small to be seen in the air, entering wounds not lethal enough to kill the men who earned them, but wide enough to act as gateways for her. She raced through the man's veins, zeroing in on his heart and forcing it stop dead in his chest. The man fell to the ground and began to convulse in the snow.

Eames turned his back and allowed his fury to do it quickly; one could say that Eames was trying to show mercy. It was a horrible death, having a water fury stop your heart from beating. Eames could feel the man's terror now; sharp edged _fear_ as he no longer felt the reassuring beating of his heart, _horror_ as he couldn't breathe, and utter _desperation_ as he tried to use his bare hands to claw his way through the armor that failed to protect him from this assault, and tried to do what? Give himself chest compressions, maybe?

Not that he'd be able to do much if he got the armor off. Eames could already feel the man's thrashing begin to lessen, the number of breaths attempted grow less and less, till finally the man was motionless and very, very dead.

The other two were staring with something that looked a little like fear. They were hesitating now!

Eames called on his fury, urging her to leave the inert body and come back to him.

"So, which of you wants to go next?" Eames was asking, conversational as he still held his _gladius_. But the knights weren't watching the sharp blade anymore. They also made it a point not to touch the open wounds Eames managed to give them.

Before Eames could call on his fury again, something happened.

There was the sound of horns. Lots of them. Calling _legionares_ back to camp, maybe?

The Knights Aeris froze on the spot and listened. Without another word, attack, or a final glance in their dead fellow's direction, the two knights ran and then called on their furies, jumping and being borne aloft by the windstreams their furies created for them.

They flew away and left Eames all by himself.

It took a moment for Eames to kneel and create a not-so-slushy pool of water using his crafting, then another moment to locate Cobb, instructing his fury to find him, using lots of little descriptive terms that his fury already associated with the extractor, who would no doubt continue to create spots for Eames's fury to look through and provide communication.

It didn't take as long as Eames thought. When he was sure that there was a proper connection, Eames spoke through his connection to his fury.

"Cobb," he said, not able to see anything through the water. "They're heading your way, like they know something."

Eames thought that he was playing very nicely, not mentioning Cobb's shade of Mal or how he mentioned that they shouldn't explain certain access routes.

 _"_ _Just buy us more time, all right?"_

Eames sighed and didn't say what he _wanted_ to say. What he wanted to say was, _If this fails you'll have bought us plenty of time down in Limbo._

But he was trying hard not to think things like that. He'd promised Arthur he wouldn't die down here. And after this was over, they were going to run the hell away from Cobb…

Eames felt a little better.

"On my way," Eames answered before calling his fury back to him so they could find his horse and be terrible nuisances to the _legionares_ riding or marching back to their base.

* * *

Having left the horses behind at the Legion camps gates, Ariadne and Cobb raced their way through the unguarded Legion wall. Then they found the stairs and climbed, moving as quickly and silently as they could manage while rushing atop the wall towards their target of the south tower.

The tower would give them a bird's eye view of the camp and the Legion hospital that was visible from the top- they would be able to watch Fischer's progress through the antechamber's windows.

Cobb threw a ball of fire at a _legionare_ armed with a spear; he led the way for Ariadne, clearing the path with little thought to the men he killed.

But they finally made it!

* * *

Arthur as the Princeps faced down the row of seven _singulares_ who stood at attention before the door to room 528.

Something that Arthur both liked and hated about dreams was how one could sort of sidestep logic.

Arthur shouldn't have been able to call the guards- he'd been killing security projections left and right! The "guards" that Fischer ended up getting at the beginning of the dream were frauds trying to incept him. It was interesting to notice how Fischer spent most of his time in these dreams pretending to not be the Princeps or hiding his identity.

But still, Arthur had called and they appeared- Fischer's subconscious offering him exactly what he wanted because he was wearing the proper shape.

Odd.

Arthur looked at the _singulares;_ each in armor, wearing scarlet half capes, very professional and diligent.

He turned to the closest _singulare,_ the captain of his guard.

"We are under attack."

The captain nodded. "It appears so, Your Highness. We will escort you to safety and find the culprits. This is obviously some strange sorcery done by the Canim."

Arthur hummed, but didn't agree. "This isn't like the Night of Red Stars. We will investigate the circumstances before we blame the Canim or their bloodspeakers and start _another_ war."

The captain nodded again. "This strange sorcery has afflicted the entire pleasure house- the lack of gravity has left us unable to call on our earth furies for strength and speed."

"Then I would suggest you find me the best windcrafters. I'm aware that each of you has the ability, but I'd rather you stand guard around our windcoach."

The captain said nothing at first before tackling the first problem his lord's plan presented. "But there are no windcoaches available, Your Highness."

Arthur smiled, mocking himself _and_ Fischer's subconscious, too. "Dream a little bigger and follow me. I believe we have a suitable substitute near the bar on the first floor- first, help me gather our sleeping passengers for transport."

The _singulares_ saluted him, thumping their fists against the steel armor over their chests. They didn't ask any other questions about these _passengers_ (like why some were dressed as _singulares_ or why one man looked like the Princeps). They simply entered the room and fetched them; Arthur watched as his bodyguards carried his dreaming team, Fischer, and Saito, as gently as if they were children. Arthur smoothly stepped in to take the PASIV so the guards wouldn't accidentally disconnect them. Each _singulare_ carried one dreamer, leaving the captain to lead the way down the hall. As a unit, they floated down the hall to get to the first floor of the pleasure house.

The best part was how quickly the captain disabled the security projections they ran into; the first was a _legionare_ who had been stuck hiding on the ceiling, lurking behind what appeared to be some kind of wheeled cart.

The captain attacked the _legionare_ without hesitating, drawing steel and protecting the man he believed to be the Princeps, not giving it a second thought. It was clear that if the others hadn't been carrying the sleeping passengers they would have done the same.

Arthur didn't even have to lift a finger. He floated on, moving past the bleeding remains of the _legionare_ , gently pushed along by his fury and thinking that it's _definitely_ good to be the Princeps _._

* * *

Saito watched, half collapsed in the snow, as Fischer created a ladder.

Tired. Saito was so, so tired now. But he forced himself to watch the way Fischer ran his hands down one of the stone columns.

Clearly calling on his earth fury once more, Fischer was forcing the stone to move.

At first, Saito thought that Fischer was trying to make the column collapse as he slowly forced a wedge, a disc of stone to protrude from the body of the column.

It should have fallen after the first step was created. Or after the second one was created roughly a foot above the first.

But slowly, methodically, Fischer was creating a series of hand and footholds for them that reached almost to the top.

Saito blinked up at it and wondered if it would hold their weight.

Fischer exhaled slowly as he looked at his handiwork. He removed his hand from it slowly, watching to see if it was going to collapse. When it didn't, he turned to Saito.

"Come on, we've got to hurry."

Saito nodded heavily, forcing himself to his knees, then to his feet- he swayed and felt fresh blood collect on the front of his shirt.

Before he could fall, Fischer rushed over and grabbed him. No hesitation, no flinching. Just smoothly stepping closer and taking Saito's weight, draping the man's arm around his shoulders and beginning to drag him to the column.

"You could leave me down here," Saito was saying. "I'll slow you down now."

Fischer shook his head.

"It's a hospital. Maybe they have medicines, maybe there's a watercrafter that could see you."

Saito didn't want to mention that he'd already seen a watercrafter for his wound- he wasn't so sure that Fischer would have remembered how he got the wound in the first place.

"Just leave me," Saito managed to say between labored breaths, lurching along and slowing Fischer down. _Take the collar off,_ Saito thought. _Just take the collar off and leave me._

"I can't," Fischer said, keeping his hold on the collared man till they reached the column. The handholds had remained exactly where they were. "We both have to get up there. I have to learn what my uncle is hiding from me. You'll be safer inside!"

Fischer looked at Saito critically then glanced up at the column.

"Wrap your arms around my neck and I'll get you to the top of that thing."

Saito must have looked shocked. Or sick. Or certain of how he was going to crash to the snowy ground, possibly in pieces.

"You don't think I can do it?" Fischer was asking, an edge to his voice that Saito wasn't familiar with. He was used to Fischer sounding just a bit meek in the face of his father, having his ideas challenged then torn apart. Fischer definitely had something to prove.

But Saito was surprised that Fischer was trying to prove something to _him_.

Before the collar could cut off his air, offer him pain for his disobedience, Saito shook his head, stumbling aside and reaching for the young Princeps' shoulder, doing as he asked and wrapping his arms around Fischer's neck. It was easier than explaining that he was willing to let him try.

"I can do this," Fischer was saying as he tugged on Saito's arms, trying to get him to hold on tighter, making sure that Saito was secure before he started to climb. "We can do this. We're here for answers. We've been kidnapped and lied to. We're breaking into my uncle's mind. We've tumbled down a cliff and have gotten stuck in the damned snow. We can't turn back now."

Saito made what he hoped was a noise generally associated with agreement.

He closed his eyes and felt Fischer begin to ascend.

* * *

Eames was following after the _legionares_ struggling to make it back to their camp. As his horse was plowing through the snow, striking the ground with its hooves, Eames was dampening the sound of its passage using his earthcrafting.

He was trying to follow without being detected.

It was harder than it looked.

So he stopped going for subtle and armed himself with the bow again and started taking potshots at the armored _legionares_.

He picked them off as his horse galloped, taking him closer to the Legion camp.

* * *

Arthur had directed the _singulares_ guarding him and carrying his team, to move to the disturbingly empty first floor of the pleasure house- for all appearances, the bar had been evacuated, leaving it empty of staff, dancers, or _legionares._

But it gave them access to what Arthur had wanted.

It was a cage.

Well, it wasn't _exactly_ a cage. It was a fairly large box, barred with wooden slats, something he'd seen one of the provocatively dressed dancers enter and _pretend_ to be locked inside. As all the collared dancers were powerful earthcrafters, getting out of the cage would be no problem- the cage remained on the stage, not lifted off the ground or preventing the girls from using their crafting if they required it.

It was assured that the women locked inside would be able to break the bars of their cage and escape if they needed to. It was just a good way of earning more money from the intoxicated _legionares_ who wanted to indulge in a _captive dancer_ fantasy.

They crafted serviceable handles for the windcoach by slipping lengths of wood in between the bars. It wouldn't be the smoothest ride, but it would work.

Then, stray _legionares_ were gathered to serve as their coachmen. Each man was capable of some windcrafting and once it was made clear they weren't going to be able to get away like the others had or have just one more drink to calm their nerves, they quickly saluted their Princeps and stopped complaining.

" _Legionares_ don't get nervous," Arthur said as he assisted his _singulares_ in loading his sleeping team, client, and mark into the surprisingly roomy cage. He slipped in as well, holding onto the PASIV, daring anyone to question him. " _Legionares_ make everyone else get nervous."

The _legionares_ saluted again, took up their positions at the improvised handles, called on their wind furies and lifted the windcoach.

"Outside, _legionares!"_ Arthur ordered them, his _singulares_ calling their own wind furies and rising alongside the windcoach, taking defensive positions around it.

* * *

Fischer was climbing, taking strength from the stone column, using his earthcrafting even though he was so far from the ground.

Saito clung to Fischer's back, remaining conscious, still in pain, but not ready to die from falling and breaking his neck.

Once Fischer was close to the top of the column and within arm's reach of the stone fortress above his head, he took a deep breath and drove his fingers into the stone.

He did this again and again, until he had something of a rough circle of damaged stone. Fischer pressed the flat of his palm against the circle of damaged stone- if Saito were watching carefully, he'd see how the pressure of the Princeps' hand combined with his crafting was increasing those spots of damage, making the cracks grow larger and larger. Then Fischer shoved at it, lifting it upwards, freeing it from the body of stone, creating their doorway.

Fischer pushed the stone out of the way and to the side, climbing the rest of the way upwards, entering the hospital with Saito clinging to his back.

* * *

Standing on top of the south tower, Cobb extended his hand forwards and called on his fire fury.

The tiger appeared as a riot of orange and red flames; she left dark, smudging paw prints in the stone as she began to pace at Cobb's side, hissing softly.

Ariadne gave the fire fury wide berth. She pointed at the hulking form of the hospital that rose from a sea of canvas tents. It was a big target, but the window they were supposed to be watching seemed to be so, so far away.

How in the hell was Cobb supposed to stand guard like this?

"That's the antechamber outside the strong room," she was saying, as if Cobb needed the clarification.

Cobb nodded, kneeling closer to the fire fury than Ariadne would have thought comfortable, but the man wasn't even breaking a sweat. He manifested a large bow, set an arrow to the string and waited.

"Are there any windows in the strong room?"

"It wouldn't be very strong if there were," Ariadne answered, finally asking, "But how are you going to see well enough to hit anything? When we initially thought of this we were going to be using guns and scopes…"

Cobb took a deep breath and then released it. He wasn't a skilled archer. His woodcrafting, much like Eames's aircrafting, wasn't good enough to mention on a CV. But it would be enough send an arrow, one deadly, fantastically quick arrow, flying towards those windows.

He'd said he would watch over Fischer from this tower.

He spotted movement close to the stairs near the hosptial.

Cobb called on his fire fury which dispersed and recollected as dozens of glowing sparks around the head of Cobb's arrow. They grew stronger in the next few seconds, becoming brighter and brighter, turning the steel arrowhead into a fiery beacon. And if he listened closely, Cobb could swear that he could hear the fire fury _hissing_.

Then Cobb released the fire arrow! It streaked through the air and struck down a _legionare_. Cobb called his fire fury back to him and she appeared at his side once again. If tiger's made of fire could purr, his would. She'd be pleased with her work, eager to fly forwards on the tip of the second arrow Cobb dreaming into his hand and set to the string of his bow. Cobb could sense as much from the bond he shared with the elemental creature.

He prepared to shoot down another, his tiger ready to spring onto the head of the arrow once more.

* * *

The hospital was empty- no watercrafters standing by to heal the wounded, no _legionares_ on guard.

The room Fischer had crafted them an entrance into appeared to be an antechamber filled with empty healing tubs.

Fischer helped Saito get further into the room, before leaving him sitting up against one of the empty tubs, so the collared man could rest on the ground. Fischer knelt before him, using the tail of his cloak to wipe the smears of blood from Saito's mouth.

"I'll try to find you a medico," Fischer was saying, noticing that Saito's teeth were stained red, that the front of his shirt was soaked with blood.

"Too late," Saito managed to whisper; as if anything louder would scrape his throat raw. Saito blinked once or twice, fighting against the collar and the painful death that was waiting for him. "Why-" Saito began to cough again, hunching forwards, curling in on himself. Saito tried again. "R-release me?"

Fischer felt ill, he wanted to run away from this moment and this sight! The heat radiated off of Saito- he was feverish, sick, maybe even hallucinating. This wasn't the first time Saito had asked for his freedom…Fischer knew he had, knew it in some vague way but couldn't name a time or a place.

But the man was hurt now; wounded and dying, trying to help him find out what secrets Uncle Peter had hidden here…

"I'm going to get you help. I'll find the watercrafter and they will heal you…"

Saito shook his head. "'m going to _die_. Die as a _slave._ " Then, as if it were ripping something from him, tearing apart what remained of his dignity, of his pride, Saito bowed his head and pleaded with him. _"Please_ , _release me, Master."_

Fischer struggled. He tore his gaze away from Saito to look at what should be his next destination- a set of locked doors, huge doors that could be hiding just what he needed to learn, that surely the doors were hiding the secrets he had come for.

But he looked back to Saito. Hurt, dying, weakened Saito. There was little he could do for him medically speaking- he had no watercraft and no real skill in offering this type of aid. But Saito was suffering so badly and had still followed after him with no complaints.

All Saito wanted was his freedom…and if he were going to die of these wounds and fall into a further dreamstate, why shouldn't he give Saito his dignity back? It had been so long, he was unjustly enslaved in the first place, _why hadn't he let the man go once his father had first become ill?_

Fischer thought of what he needed- just something sharp enough to draw blood. He'd make things right. He'd make things right before it was too late, he'd do what he should have done a long time ago.

Fischer dreamed up a small dagger and carefully sliced the pad of his thumb, wincing in pain. He'd only need a little blood for this to work. Saito, still locked in his haze of fear and delirium, watched with widened eyes as Fischer prepared to press his bloodied thumb against the discipline collar.

"I should have done this long ago," Fischer was saying, not hearing the sounds of another's approach. "Damn what my father would have thought! It was wrong before and it's wrong now, and there's no apology I could give you that would ever make this better. But I'll free you now."

Before he could press his thumb against the metal band and work his crafting to release the latch and then throw the damned collar into the nearest pit, he heard the sound of a weapon being drawn, the metallic hiss of a _gladius_ being unsheathed.

Fischer turned his head.

* * *

Cobb had shot down several security projections, hitting them with flaming arrows.

And then, as difficult as it was to tell, Cobb spotted movement through the windows. A person's dangling legs as they dropped out of hiding from the ceiling _inside_ the hospital?

"Come on," Cobb was saying, urging his fury to make the head of the latest arrow burn bright and hot. "Just a little bit lower."

He'd be able to break the window. There was a good chance he could hit the person after they hit the floor. The angle wasn't good enough but Cobb was fairly certain that the blurry shape crouching on the ground was Fischer. He couldn't see Saito.

Cobb crushed his worry over what that could mean and kept watching the person's descent.

When Mal dropped down, Cobb froze.

There must have been something that told Ariadne what he'd spotted- his stopping any movement, his failure to fire the next arrow, the hissing of a shocked breath between his teeth.

"No," Ariadne was saying, trying to get him back into the right state of mind, to get him to focus on the mission, the completely crazy mission! "No, she is not real."

Cobb didn't have any metalcrafting. But the faraway, distant, and cold tone of his voice could have fooled her.

"How do you know that?"

Ariadne wanted to hit Cobb, but with the man's fire fury lurking right next to him, she didn't want to risk complete incineration. Reminding him of who was real, that would be better.

Fischer was real. Saito was real. Not Mal. Not the projection of Mal!

* * *

Fischer turned to see a beautiful woman standing with a drawn weapon. Her armor was light, built to offer her speed and freedom of movement.

"Hello," she said after he completed the turn and stood up.

Then, before Fischer could grab his weapon, or call on his earth fury for strength, or take another breath, she rushed at him with all the terrifying speed an aircrafter could muster within a building made of stone.

She was fast, getting in close and striking Fischer. She had time to deal him two ugly, vicious blows- the first ripped through his chestplate, shattering his armor and cutting deep. The second, after she'd pulled the bloody blade from the young Princeps' chest, was a move practiced by all _legionares_ \- a stabbing motion, not graceful but efficient, did more damage to Fischer's armor and gutted him.

He fell to the ground, bleeding heavily, dying if not dead already.

* * *

There was the sound of shattering glass, but Saito didn't look up.

Saito watched the Princeps' body, taking the sight of the broken prince with shock and horror, feeling tears coursing down his face. At first, he couldn't tell where it was coming from, but he could distinctly hear _laughter._

It wasn't coming from the woman who had just murdered the Princeps. In fact, a flaming arrow had smashed through the window and taken her out! She too was bleeding on the ground. That must have been what the shattering glass had been about.

But the laughter continued, unabated. Well, that was until Saito had a coughing fit. Choking on blood and tears, _Saito_ began to laugh once more.

His one chance to be freed, he had been so very close, and now, he was going to die as a slave!

Saito kept laughing and crying and waiting for death.

* * *

There was no gravity outside the pleasure house. Carts and coaches had been abandoned, left to float down the street, some still hitched with horses uselessly kicking at the air, unable to gallop or trot away.

His _singulares_ and coachmen ignored these peculiar sights, listening to their Princeps' commands.

"Take us higher," Arthur called over the sound of the windstreams created by the coachmen and his bodyguards.

The coach soared up and away from the pleasant cityscape Ariadne had built for the second level. They took to the open sky.

* * *

Eames backtracked away from, raced, dodged, and evaded the swiftly marching Legion. He made his way to the Legion wall and jumped from his horse.

Kneeling on the ground, Eames called on his earth fury and slipped down through the cold earth, slipping into a tunnelcrafting that he'd mastered with Arthur ages ago.

He was able to shave minutes off of his travel by using the tunnel, avoiding the twisting route he'd have to take if he ran above ground.

Rising back up through the earth, appearing beneath the hospital, Eames spotted the ladder that Fischer must have built.

Eames climbed up the column with its well spaced hand and footholds, reaching the top and the circular opening Fischer created for himself and Saito.

He entered the antechamber and spotted the healing tubs, seeing Saito leaning against one.

Two bodies lay nearby on the floor.

Eames saw to Saito first. The man was burning up, softly sobbing and laughing. Eames checked with his water fury, touching the client's cheek gently with one hand. Eames flinched back as his fury exposed him to Saito's emotions, to his pain. It was progressing just as Arthur had said it would…

 _He will become feverish, disoriented, and experience a great deal of pain before he finally looses consciousness and dies. And because of how heavily sedated we are, Saito will drop into Limbo._

Not knowing what else he could do, Eames quickly stripped off his cloak and folded it into a serviceable pillow for the dying man. He helped Saito stretch out on the floor, carefully holding the collared man's head up as he slipped the improvised pillow beneath his head.

After seeing that Saito was comfortable, Eames examined the others.

The first was the projection of Mal, shot through the heart with an arrow. The second was Fischer, laying in a pool of his own blood.

From what Eames could tell, he'd been attacked by Mal- stabbed through the chest and gutted.

The sight of these broken bodies, sensing Saito's fracturing mind; it was enough to make Eames feel so _old_. He passed one hand over his face, covering his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath. He needed his composure. He needed to craft away his sudden fear.

The tears were already pricking at the corners of his eyes as he thought of this failure. Robert Fischer was dead. He would be fed to the crows; they'd pick out his eyes and tongue, tear at the soft flesh of his cheeks and face. Robert Fischer would never be incepted, Saito would never be freed, and they were all going to die.

They were all food for the crows.

He urged his fury to ward away his tears, letting the hand he'd used to cover his eyes slip down his face. He let the same hand drop to his sheathed _gladius_ so he may call on his metalcrafting for calm.

And that was how both Ariadne and Cobb found him.

"What happened," Eames asked them, sensing their presence as he kept his eyes shut, taking one more second to compose himself. Then he opened his eyes and focused on Cobb.

"Aside from the obvious, of course," Eames said, gesturing at the dead bodies and their dying tourist.

Ariadne looked from Eames to Cobb, but said nothing. He _had_ excluded the obvious, after all.

"I couldn't shoot her," Cobb said to Eames, coming closer to look down at his dead wife's body. He looked at the arrow that had pierced her chest, at the blood staining her light armor. There was a little bit of singed material, some blackened armor, but once he had killed her, Cobb called back his fire fury. "I just couldn't burn her up…"

Then Cobb turned his attention back to Fischer, the failure of their plans, and what they could do next.

"There's no use in reviving him-," Cobb began to say before Eames cut him off, the forger's voice cool and detached. If anything, it made what he had to say much worse.

" _No use in reviving him_ ," Eames repeated in that chilly voice, his hand tightening on the hilt of his _gladius_. "He's dead. He's been gutted. If you look much more closely Cobb, you can see more than blood." The forger shrugged. "Now that I think about it, you can _smell_ it, too. So don't you try to tell me that there's no use in reviving him. Own up to it, Cobb. Say it."

Cobb opened and closed his mouth, looking like he was going to argue with Eames's assessment before he changed his mind. Then he said it.

"There's no use in reviving him because he's dead. His mind is already trapped down there. It's all over."

Eames looked over at Cobb and said, "We've failed."

Cobb nodded briefly, still a little stunned as he threw his bow on the ground and kicked it aside. "I'm sorry."

Eames watched Cobb, still stuck in the cool, logical headspace his metalcrafting offered him. "Well, it's not me that doesn't get back to my family, is it?" Then he took his hand away from his sword and his expression darkened. "And, depending on what the ever loving _hell_ else happens in this clusterfuck of a job, we might die on this level. As will Arthur," Eames said, his voice strangling a bit as he pronounced the point man's name, grinding his teeth and moving on, saying, "As will Yusuf. All because of your guilt, your grief, and the disturbing shade of your dead wife!"

Cobb was backing away, his hand moving to his own _gladius_. "I want you to calm down, Eames."

"Why should I do that, Cobb?" Eames took another step, drawing his _gladius_. His voice was once again calm and detached, but the way he gripped the hilt of his sword betrayed his murderous intentions. After all, metalcrafting was excellent for warding away pain, for keeping calm, and thinking logically. It was quite possible that Eames could kill Cobb and quietly, logically, search for a ditch to throw the body in.

"Keep calm and carry on? No! I've carried on for long enough. We've come so close to dying, so close to getting lost in Limbo for this stupid, stupid job, and we won't even finish it!"

Eames stopped to take a nice deep breath, let go of his _gladius_ , and pointed at the locked strong room, instead.

"And it's a shame because I _really_ wanted to know what was going to happen in there. I swear we had this one…"

Once Cobb was certain that Eames wasn't going to attack him, he tried to move on.

"We still have time, Eames. We can catch the kick; we're going to get out of this alive. You'll get to see Arthur and…" Cobb shut up when Eames glared at him.

"Not another word," Eames cautioned him. " _If_ we get out of this alive, I swear-"

"There's still another way," Ariadne said.

Cobb and Eames were getting ready to separate and prepare for the kick- as it had been discussed before, destroying the foundations of the hospital would work best. If they worked together, both Eames and Cobb could destroy the columns supporting the hospital and drop them as soon as Arthur played the music for Eames. Then it would just be a matter of defending the hospital until they got the sign.

"We just have to follow Fischer down there," Ariadne was saying to the forger and extractor.

Eames shook his head. "There's not enough time."

Ariadne was not going to let this go. "There will _be_ enough time down there!" She was wondering if she'd have to bring out a visual aid. "Arthur said Limbo is just raw, infinite subconscious. Infinite!" She wasn't sure how much more emphasis she could begin to place on that one word. If she were typing it she supposed she could put it in bold, italics, and also underline it!

She was considering scrounging up a piece of paper and doing that, when she noticed that she had their attention.

So Ariadne began to outline the plan- go down into Limbo after Fischer where they would have lots of time to find him, plenty of time before the kick. That Eames would wait for Arthur's music, break the foundations of the hospital, and they would all ride the kick up the levels.

Eames frowned at her as she explained giving Fischer his own kick down in Limbo.

"You'd kick him back up to a corpse. Even if he "woke" it would be for moments till he went back down to Limbo again, right?" Eames asked, looking at Cobb for confirmation.

Ariadne moved closer to Eames and said, "Not if you heal his injuries before we give him his kick."

Eames's expression became closed off. "No."

Ariadne wouldn't let go. She remained firm. "But if you _did_ heal the injuries!"

"God damn it, are you even listening? I said no!" Eames shouted at her, watching as she flinched away.

But even though she flinched and was frightened for maybe a second, Ariadne came back, ready to fight him. It wasn't in her to cower!

"Is it because you failed once?" Eames said nothing to her, not confirming or denying. "I was there," she hissed. "I was sitting right there when you spoke with Arthur. You wouldn't try to heal Saito of the garic-oil poisoning. But you _wanted_ to because you thought it would hurt Arthur, because Arthur's not as good at watercrafting when compared to you. He took over and did it because he knew that you couldn't. That you had a very bad experience, that you accidentally killed someone when you tried to heal them."

"It- I've only ever failed twice," Eames admitted. "The first was Arthur- we'd been so new and green in Project PASIV, but I'd been watercrafting ever since I found my fury. My failure that day was just an accident. Arthur's wounds were burned shut and I never ran into wounds that had been burned shut!"

"It wasn't your fault," Cobb said patiently, no doubt remembering that experience. "Arthur was fine and you got shook up."

"But that doesn't make what happened next any better!" Eames cried. "He was just a kid!"

"Many of you were!" Cobb answered. "He was eighteen."

Eames frowned, thinking of it. "Eighteen and a half," the forger corrected Cobb. "He was practicing his crafting with his partner and ended up getting an ugly wound to his stomach. I was the closest medic available who was capable of watercrafting."

Ariadne grabbed Eames by the front of his armor and yanked him down. The forger, not expecting it, leaned forwards so he and the architect were eye to eye.

"And it was a difficult crafting. It was hard. It was beyond you. It made you question if you'd ever be able to heal again. And when that boy died, you ran away. And you left Arthur behind."

The forger's eyes narrowed, but he wasn't going to argue. It was hard to argue against the truth. "Yes."

"If you don't heal Robert Fischer so he has a working body to wake up in, you'll be doing much worse than leaving Arthur behind because you got scared.

"I'm telling you," Eames said between grit teeth. "Watercrafting cannot bring back the dead. There has to be something _in_ there," Eames said, reaching out and tapping two fingers against Ariadne's temple, then doing it again, but tapping at the spot just above her armored chest. "There has to be a flicker of something in there, too. When we use the PASIV and go down multiple levels we leave a bit of something behind. Something…" Eames paused, struggling to find the words.

"What?" Ariadne asked, challenging but not wanting to disrupt the forger's thoughts.

"Something like energy. Animus," Eames said waving his hand. "A spark of life or a driving force that makes the heart beat and the blood pump…"

"If you can heal Fischer of his injuries," Cobb was saying, standing side by side with Ariadne, "And then strengthen that animating spirit, it's possible that when we give Fischer the kick in Limbo, he _will_ come back."

Eames frowned and looked over his shoulder, spotting the unmoving form of Robert Fischer. "The wounds are quite severe. They might be so severe that _if_ I bring him back, he might not be the same person anymore. I've seen people come back disturbed and disabled…"

"But they were alive?" Ariadne asked.

Eames nodded, but looked hesitant. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then said, "It's worth a shot. Just help me get Fischer into one of the healing tubs. I haven't done this in _years_ , let alone attempted to heal a wound so complex. So, go for it. Go down to Limbo and try to rescue Robert Fischer. If you're not back before the kick, I am gone with or without you."

They already had the PASIV with them, safely secured and fully operational here in the hospital.

Ariadne looked over at Saito, lying on the floor with Eames's cloak bunched up under his head. He was facing the makeshift entrance that Fischer had created, a small dagger in his hand.

Cobb went to help Eames move Fischer's body and slip him into a healing tub that Eames had dragged closer. There was a nearby barrel of water that Eames had pried open and allowed his water fury to enter, using his fury to help fill the tub.

When Fischer's body was submerged up to his chin in the tub, Eames waved Cobb away after a brief conversation.

Cobb went back to Ariadne and set about unspooling IV lines.

"What did he say?" Ariadne couldn't help asking.

"He mentioned that Saito would hold off the guards while he performed the healing. That he'd duck out and create spots of damage on the supporting columns so he could perform the kick with his earthcrafting up here."

"You asked him if he thought Saito was going to make it, didn't you?"

Cobb nodded. "It doesn't look good."

They went back to prepping their IVs and getting comfortable on the floor.

"Can I trust you to do what needs to happen here?" Ariadne asked, wishing she could believe the extractor. But she also knew that Mal would be down there, as well.

"Fischer's down there," Cobb answered. "Mal will have him."

 _Because she'd want to lure me back down there and make me stay, just like she wants_.

Cobb was wondering if he should prepare Ariadne for what was going to come next- it was a little shocking to wake up on the shores of Limbo's raw, infinite subconscious.

He very quietly suggested that Ariadne try and hold her breath when she wakes. Her look of confusion was the last thing he saw before he pressed the button and fell down to Limbo.


	16. Chapter 16

A.N: This took forever. We're almost done- if anything, twenty chapters may be too much! I wouldn't be surprised if I had to change it to only eighteen! But we're nearly there, everybody!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or Codex Alera.

Ariadne awoke, sea salt stinging her eyes, an ocean of pure subconscious splashing its waves over her body.

Waking in Limbo was like waking after taking a fall- hitting her head and saying to herself, 'So, how long was I out?' It was disorienting and for a moment, Ariadne allowed the surf to froth around her; she tilted her chin up and breathed deep as she looked up at the flawless blue sky.

Deep inside, she knew that this wasn't reality. It didn't feel right. Even if she rose out of the waves and ran for the shore, if she used her crafting to give her strength and endurance, she'd scramble around for miles searching for the edge; that she'd lose herself searching for the horizon.

Cobb also awoke close to shore, coming back to himself faster than Ariadne. For him, falling back down to the shores of his world was a little like coming home; not his real home, but the home he'd fashioned with Mal after they'd played as gods, built and destroyed, for fifty years. Coming back to himself, Cobb thrashed in the water and forced himself to move- this place wasn't his home, his home was up above.

He marched through the crashing waves, finding Ariadne lying on her back, gazing up at the upturned bowl of the sky. But she was quickly coming to her senses as she sat up in the shallows.

The extractor reached for her, pulling her up, getting her on her feet and catching hold of her before the next wave could knock her over.

"All right?"

Ariadne gazed at the beach, at the cliffs, in wonder. Old, dilapidated structures built along the shore began to crumble and fall into the water.

"This is your world?"

"It was," Cobb answered, looking ahead and finding a path for them. He thought that it wouldn't truly matter which road they chose. Any of them, _all_ of them would lead him to Mal.

"Come on," he said, leading Ariadne away from the shore and up the sandy beach, leading her to the city he'd created with Mal.

* * *

It was too loud to actually speak to the coachmen or to his _singulares_ , so Arthur relied on hand signals.

He beat one fist against the body of their improvised coach, not hard enough to break the bars of the cage, but enough to get the nearest coachman's attention. Sensing the vibration through the wood, the coachman turned to Arthur and flicked his own hand sign in question.

Arthur signed, _higher_

The coachman nodded and shared the command with his fellows.

* * *

Eames watched as Fischer floated in the healing tub, dead as ever. How could he have possibly thought this would work?

Feeling eyes on his back, Eames turned his head to look over his shoulder. He found that Saito had forced himself up into a seated position, close to the hole they had used as an entrance, but near to where Eames stood at the healing tub. Saito was watching him as he leaned against an unused tub.

"Saito, I need you to watch over me while I heal Fischer. And then, when I go out to prepare for our kick, I'll need you to guard him for me."

Saito showed him his teeth, a grimace of pain that morphed into a macabre smile. He tried to wave the dagger in his hand, but kind of made a brief flopping gesture as he coughed.

"No room for tourists on these jobs," Saito said, smiling that terrible smile at Eames.

Eames made sure to smile back and be reassuring, even if he didn't _feel_ so reassuring.

"Don't be silly."

The best thing he could do would be to get this over with quickly.

He put his hands into the cold, bloody water, pressing his fingertips against Fischer's temples and focusing.

"Inside," Eames whispered to his fury, feeling it as she left him and entered the water. She surrounded Fischer's body, free of his broken armor and torn shirt so there would be no obstructions, a gentle thrumming around the corpse. What he was trying to do was insane. The way that healing, the way that watercrafting worked, was to manipulate the energies within a patient's body. If the body wasn't capable of maintaining the healing, it couldn't be done. If there wasn't enough flesh, muscle, energy, or even will to live, the healing would fail.

Already, Eames could see that the damage was worse than he'd initially thought. The Princeps had died fairly quickly. Severed arteries for bloodloss, damaged organs for trauma…

Eames began to do a quick accounting of damages and plot a course of action for the massive healing he would undertake. He concentrated.

Mal's first attack had been strong enough to break through Fischer's armor; the entry point had been through the sternum, breaking a couple of ribs when she twisted the blade and pulled out for the second attack. She'd struck her target and stabbed Fischer through the heart…this wasn't going to be easy. The broken ribs had punctured one of Fischer's lungs, another difficult fix.

He turned his attention to the second wound to the abdomen. The abdominal wall would need to be sealed shut, encouraging the muscle to grow back would be time consuming. And the organs that had been damaged as the blade entered! The pancreas, the stomach, the small and large intestine, as well as many blood vessels needed to be repaired.

The second wound had been _completely_ unnecessary. Fischer wouldn't have been able to survive with the damage done to his heart and if he _did_ he'd have drowned in his own blood and gone into shock without a trained medic close at hand.

Eames decided to tackle the most important organs first- the lungs and heart.

His fury was already directing the blood in the water to _go back_ into Fischer's body, go back through the gaping wounds in his chest and stomach.

As he began to draw on his own energies, he could have sworn that he felt a flickering in Fischer's chest. Not a heartbeat; his heart was too damaged to beat. But there was a flash of the energies Eames usually associated it with. It was some of the that residual life energy, maybe.

Eames refused to put too much hope in its appearance. So much of the work that needed to be done depended on _him_ , depended on his fury, on their combined power- but it was a good sign that Fischer, still dead on this level, might have a chance if Eames could put him back together.

Eames closed his eyes and joined with his fury, letting his consciousness fall into the water, allowing their perceptions to blend and unite.

If he looked up, looking with his water fury's eyes, he'd see himself slumped forwards over the lip of the tub, hands still pressed against the sides of Fischer's head, eyes closed as if sleeping.

As difficult as it was to think like _himself_ as he was joined with his fury, he looked at himself for just a moment and thought, _i_ _t_ _took us forever, didn't it? But we're back to our roots, back to what we're meant for- we were always meant to heal, not fight and kill and steal._

He was shocked by how _comforting_ it was.

Before Eames could distract himself with such a sentiment, he returned his attention to Fischer and began to work.

* * *

Cobb and Ariadne walked the streets he and Mal had created all those years ago.

"You built all of this? This is incredible."

Cobb nodded and looked up and up and up- the streets laid out in grids and mazes, the buildings becoming streamlined and perfect the further into the city they went.

"We built for years," Cobb said, looking at the structures that were crumbling around them, littering the streets. "Then we started in on the memories."

And this was an appropriate time for the projections of his children to appear; waiting for him up ahead, playing on the street, not the sidewalk, and somehow that bothered Cobb. He knew that there were no cars that could hit them, but still, it bothered him. When his children got up and ran away, he knew to follow them.

Projections of his children, the ones he was struggling so hard to get back to, used as bait to lure him in. As if Fischer wasn't enough.

"This way," Cobb said before he started to run.

Ariadne followed after him, grateful for Arthur's training. She called on A'tuin and realized that the road Cobb had led them down had been furycrafted, not just dreamed into existence as Cobb and Mal had built, destroyed, and restructured their world. The road had been embedded with earthfuries to draw strength from. She began to run faster than she had before, in either dreams or reality- calling on A-tuin for stamina and endurance, racing with Cobb, who was doing the same with his own furies.

* * *

Arthur watched as the captain of his guard flew closer, made a bid for his lord's attention, and then began using hand signals.

 _Where,_ his guard asked.

Arthur signed back, frustrated that he couldn't call out and say something like, 'Stop questioning me.' There wasn't a hand signal for 'I'm waiting for the music' or 'I'm preparing to give us the kick.'

Arthur gave the command that they continue, that they go forwards.

* * *

"This," Cobb said as they ran past buildings that appeared to rise from the waters like islands, accessible by walkways rather than boats. "This was our neighborhood."

Ariadne kept running, staying at Cobb's side, noticing how he wasn't breathing heavily or even sweating. She wondered whether it was because of his crafting or because of how far down they had gone. She noticed that she wasn't breathing hard either, considering that they had been running the length of city blocks without stopping or slowing down for…she'd lost track of time, but she was certain that they were making better time running than leisurely strolling around Limbo.

As they continued on, Cobb pointed out specific buildings, referencing them as places from his and Mal's past. Like their first apartment, or the building they moved into later on, or another building they lived in once Mal became pregnant.

"You reconstructed this all from memory?" Ariadne asked, looking at each place as they passed it, amazed by the detail, but also the level of disrepair each building suffered now.

"We had lots of time," Cobb answered as they passed a house. Ariadne pointed it out to him, asking what it was to Cobb and Mal, maybe trying to figure out why it was important to them.

"That's the house that Mal grew up in," Cobb said.

Ariadne asked if they would find her there. It would be the easy route, she thought. But since when was anything easy?

Cobb looked towards the house once, but then looked away. "No."

He urged her to follow him and they left Mal's childhood home behind. Cobb stopped her as they reached a large building with glass doors, staircases, and an elevator.

"We both wanted to live in a house, but we loved this type of building," Cobb was saying as he led her to the elevator. "In the real world, we'd have to choose, but not here."

They stepped into the elevator.

* * *

Eames couldn't help it, but as he worked he thought about the last time he'd tried to watercraft anyone into good health.

It had been a hot day, he'd just gotten off of his practice run with Cobb and Mal, once again working with the PASIV, explaining what he meant with his talk of _forgery_.

Out walking on the base, going past the area reserved for weapons training for those in Project PASIV, he'd heard frantic voices calling his name.

"Please! Please," one young soldier called to him, identifying Eames as a watercrafter from the mark on his fatigues. It beat having to carry a lanyard with colored beads on it. If he _did,_ his lanyard would have three blue beads, signifying his great skill in watercrafting, a lone white bead for his aircrafting, two brown beads for earthcrafting, and two green beads for woodcrafting. But the most important, the _rarest_ of his abilities was on display on his uniform; a series of wavy blue lines, meant to represent flowing water, had been sewn into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Eames stopped what he was doing and watched as a pair of soldiers approached carrying a wounded crafter; something sharp, most likely a sword, had been driven through his stomach, and blood had soaked through the front of his uniform. The sword had been removed, leaving an ugly, gaping wound to the young man's belly.

Remarkably, the young man had still been conscious when he was given to Eames. Slipping into the no-nonsense mentality a good healer was capable of, Eames called for the healing tub.

The same men who had carried the patient to Eames had dashed off to fetch it for him after they'd gently set the wounded soldier on the ground.

Lying in the dirt, the young private had one hand wrapped around his dog tags, reaching out with his metalcrafting to fight the pain. The sight had reminded him of his last healing- poor Arthur, pushing away the pain of his slashed back. Eames had to drive the image of Arthur's face from his mind and get to work.

"You're going to be fine," Eames had said as he pressed his hands against the wound, called to his fury and examined the damages- all fairly self-explanatory for a sword wound to the stomach. Damage to the abdominal wall, to the intestines, to one of the kidneys.

Eames had found the source of the bleeding. The abdominal aorta, the largest artery found in the abdomen, had been cut. If it were any closer to the heart, the patient, a young man named Roy, would have died in seconds. But with the metalcrafting stopping the pain and Eames working diligently to stop the bleeding and restore the artery, Roy was able to last long enough to give Eames a complex.

No matter how much he worked, how deeply he delved into his own reserves, the blood continued to well up between Eames's palms, staining his fingers. The rich, metallic scent filled his nose as Eames put more pressure against the wound and begged his fury to work harder because by then, Eames feared that he would lose poor Roy Anderson.

"Where's the blasted tub!" Eames had yelled over his shoulder. Then he focused on the solider he was trying so hard to save. "Private Anderson? Come on, Roy! You've got to work with me here!"

Because, Eames could see it in his eyes, he could feel it through his fury.

Roy was giving up…

The light was fading from Roy's eyes, his hand was loosening, letting go of his dog tags and releasing the crafting holding the pain at bay.

The tub was finally delivered, water sloshing over the sides. The two soldiers tasked to bring the tub took it upon themselves to pick up Private Roy Anderson and carefully place him in the filled tub. Eames dipped his hands into the water, moving to press his fingers against Roy's temples, commanding his fury to go inside, once more.

But it was too late. Too much blood loss, not enough of will to live, and Eames was so drained…

Eames couldn't help but think of that day as he worked. Steadily, patiently, carefully.

Eames berated himself for his error- for not fixing Roy Anderson, for not saving him. And while on some level Eames knew that Robert Fischer wasn't Roy Anderson; that he was older, that he'd never have been a soldier, he couldn't help but compare the two and think that if he was able to do it this time, if he could save Robert Fischer, he might be able to banish the ghost of Private Roy Anderson.

Eames was now in a deep crafting without the benefit of a second crafter to monitor him. He was almost finished.

He had repaired the major, life sustaining organs; restoring torn issue and muscle, fixing the damaged chambers of the heart, draining the fluid from the lungs and patching the hole made by Fischer's broken ribs. He healed Fischer's ribs and sternum, protecting the heart and lungs once more.

He had repaired other organs; he healed the wound to Fischer's stomach and restored tissue damaged by acids. He restored the pancreas, the small and large intestine. He had forced muscle and flesh to grow back over the wounds, sealing them shut with fresh pink skin.

He had only just finished the tedious work of repairing damaged blood vessels; from capillaries to arteries.

Eames and his fury, together as one being in the water, floated and searched for more- for any other wounds, any other damages.

They checked together, again and again.

When they found nothing else, they listened together for that spark of life, for the anima. It was no stronger and no weaker than before. It wasn't time to manipulate it- to force Fischer's heart to beat and his blood to flow. He would do that later, after he'd prepared them for the kick.

It took effort. He had to carefully separate what made him Eames from what he'd identify as his fury. They'd become so tangled up, perceiving things as one entity, as one being.

Once Eames finally came back to himself all he could feel was the pain from his cramped legs, forced to kneel before the healing tub. He sucked in a huge breath of air, eyes widening as he came back, understanding that it was okay to breathe in now because he wasn't in the water.

His fury came back to him, attempting to soothe his own pain, encouraging his blood to circulate and feed oxygen to his cramped leg muscles, to ease the headache building up just behind his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered to her, "yes, darling, I feel better now. Just rest for now, that was quite a bit of work."

He felt a flare of emotion from her; very bright, very positive with just a tinge of _I told you so_. That she'd always known he could do it.

He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. But he had more to do.

Saito was still clutching at his dagger and he nearly stabbed Eames with it when the forger touched his shoulder. He grabbed Saito's wrist and smacked the man's face, just a little, just enough to wake him up.

"Excellent guarding, Saito," Eames said, releasing the client's wrist once he was sure that Saito knew who he was and understood that stabbing him was a very bad idea. "I'm going outside now, so please keep an eye on Fischer."

Then Eames manifested something important. Like it was a magic trick, Eames presented Saito with a delicate glass orb which held a riot of color inside.

"This," Eames explained, "is a fire orb. Difficult to make, so I dreamed one up for you! You don't need crafting to operate it. Just use it in an emergency, okay?"

Eames pressed it into Saito's free hand, closing his fingers around it and holding it there for a moment.

"Treat it like a grenade and be prepared for a _big_ explosion with lots of fire once you throw it. So, avoid releasing the fire fury inside the hospital."

Saito nodded, then asked, "Did you do it?"

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Please don't jinx me."

"It will either work," Saito said slowly and carefully, not slurring his words. "Or it won't."

Eames patted Saito on the shoulder, unsheathed his _gladius_ , and moved towards the hole in the floor. "Just keep an eye on him while I'm gone!"

Then Eames took another step and dropped through the hole, ready to do some damage.

* * *

Ariadne waited patiently in the elevator, as they went up and passed several floors. Then she asked.

"How are we going to bring Fischer back?"

Cobb was watching the closed elevator door, maybe counting the number of floors they had left.

"We're gonna have to come up with some kind of kick," he replied.

"What?" Ariadne asked.

Cobb pulled a gun; not a sword, not a dagger, and not a bow. It appeared that at least for _this_ level, Cobb wanted to go with something familiar.

"I'm going to improvise."

Then, Cobb swallowed hard and said, "Look, there's something you should know about me. About inception."

* * *

It turned out that there were quite a few _legionares_ eager to murder Eames. Who wouldn't, considering how he'd decided to hack and slash his way from support column to support column?

Climbing the columns and calling on his earthcrafting, Eames clenched one fist, and punched the stone- he created cracks and fissures, nothing too serious considering the hospital was still required to remain standing, but just enough for him to manipulate with his earthcrafting.

Rushing from one column to the next, Eames felt like he was playing a ridiculous game of tag.

And he was definitely _it._

* * *

"An idea is like a virus," Cobb was telling Ariadne as they exited the elevator and began to walk down a familiar hallway. The same they'd walked down when she'd invaded his dreams.

Before, he'd said that it was their home, his and Mal's.

"Resilient," Cobb continued, gun drawn, moving quietly and cautiously. "Highly contagious. And the smallest seed of an idea can grow."

They were closer to the end of the hall; to where it would open up to a front room. He held the gun in both hands, prepared to shoot if he had to. "It can grow to define or destroy you."

They entered the larger room; there were windows and couches and a table. The table was where Mal sat, idly toying with a butcher knife.

"The smallest idea," Mal said, not looking at them yet. "Such as: your world is not real. Simple little thought that changes everything."

Then Mal turned her head and looked at them. But she spoke to Ariadne first.

"So certain of your world. Of what's real. Do you think he is?"

Ariadne wasn't sure how to answer that. His behavior when he first refused to shoot his projection of Mal, seemed to be a pretty good indicator that at that moment, he hadn't been so sure.

But she wasn't going to say it.

Cobb was already pointing his gun away from Mal.

"Or do you think he was as lost as I was?"

 _Was_ , Ariadne thought, _past-tense_. _She thinks that she's awake…she'll argue that Cobb's lost, too._

Ariadne carefully followed Cobb further into the room, watching him as he took a seat at the table.

"I know what's real, Mal," Cobb said.

Ariadne watched Mal begin to try and pick apart Cobb's resolve.

 _Shoot her,_ she thought, not sure where the hell Cobb's gun went. _We don't have time for this. We need to find Fischer and leave!_

* * *

The team floated alongside Arthur, who sat in the cage and watched the progress of his coachmen and caught the slightly suspicious glance of the captain of his _singulares_.

He couldn't pull out a mirror to check and see if his forgery had slipped- if it had, Arthur was fairly certain that he would have been killed already.

Arthur could still feel the different face he wore, could sense it, too. He didn't understand how Eames could do this so easily.

More likely than not, the captain was growing concerned that the Princeps hadn't given any other commands, aside from _further_.

He heard a noise, difficult because of the sound of roaring wind, but discernible because he was so damned _close_.

Arthur heard someone cough.

He looked over at his sleeping team and noticed Saito. The front of his shirt was stained red, and because he was sitting so close, Arthur could also smell the garic-oil poisoning the tourist's blood. His situation was getting much worse…

* * *

Mal and Cobb's debate over whether or not Cobb believed in just one reality had led them into a pose Ariadne had spotted them in last time.

Mal, cupping Cobb's face in her hands, whispering and cajoling him.

"I have to get back to our children because you left them. Because you left _us_."

Mal blinked and flinched away. "You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong," Cobb said.

The shade took her hands away from Cobb's face, ready to prove him wrong. "You're confused. Our children are here."

Ariadne could hear the sounds of children laughing and now heard the pattering of feet on the floor. She looked and saw Cobb's projections of his children sitting down and playing with something on the ground next to a doorway, maybe to an adjoining room? She could hear Mal saying: _And you'd like to see their faces again, wouldn't you?_

After seeing these projections so many times, Ariadne secretly believed that these children _didn't_ have faces. That they were ciphers, vague representations of the children Cobb had to leave behind- he'd take away their faces, stealing their identities, making them his children and _not_ his children at the same time. He would always know that he was dreaming, then.

Ariadne hoped that they did have faces, that Cobb hadn't wiped them clean in some vain hope of denying himself the sight in dreams so he could _deserve it_ up above.

But, since she couldn't confirm or deny it, since she was sure the shade of Mal would maul her if she laid one hand on her precious child projections, Ariadne continued to observe this strange interaction that still hadn't gotten them closer to finding Fischer.

"Yes," Cobb said, "but I'm going to see them up above, Mal."

* * *

Eames drove his fist into the stone column, gritting his teeth against the flash of pain in his hand. He'd definitely heard the _pop_! He called to his water fury and squeezed his hand into a fist once more, experiencing that flash of pain again. He'd fractured his fingers, most likely his wrist, too.

"It's just there, love," the forger said to his water fury as he fell from the column, waving his free hand and calling his weak wind fury to slow his descent and allow him to land without breaking both of his legs. He had just enough time to heal a fractured wrist and a few metacarpals, if the swelling was anything to go by.

* * *

Saito coughed and rested his head against the healing tub he'd been propped up against. He was waiting and listening; there had been the sound of arrows being fired, the sounds of marching feet, and the shuddering blows that shook the hospital, which must have meant that Eames was nearly finished preparing the columns for the kick.

He heard the sounds of movement. The sounds of _legionares_ coming closer to the hole in the floor, perhaps using the ladder that the late Princeps had created.

Saito looked at the fire orb Eames had created for him…well, not created, but wished into existence. _Just throw it._

The collared man held the fire orb in his hand and looked the entrance, where the sound of approaching _legionares_ was growing louder. If he didn't throw the thing now, he'd risk damaging the column with the device. Or allowing some of the _legionares_ to gain access to the hospital, kill him, and then disrupt Eames's plans to bring Fischer back.

And that…that would be a shame, considering the demons the forger had to face in order to attempt the healing, at all.

If there was one good thing he could do before he died, Saito reasoned, throwing the fire orb and giving Eames more time to rescue Fischer, to help the others ride the kick back up the levels, then this should be enough.

He tightened his hold on the fire orb and waited, trying to stop his coughing, and steady his hands. It would be a shame if he missed.

* * *

"Up above," Mal repeated, sounding sad and a little fond, as if Cobb were spinning fairytales for her about _up above_ where their children lived and waited for him. "Listen to yourself. These are our children. Watch." She nodded, trying to reassure him, to get him to believe that she was correct.

Then she called to the children sitting in the doorway. They turned at the sound of their mother's voice; Cobb turned away, a pained look on his face as he forced himself to not look in their direction, to close his eyes.

"Don't do this, Mal. Please. Those aren't my children."

This wasn't winning him any points with Mal. "You keep telling yourself that, but that's not what you believe."

Ariadne continued to watch, amazed that this ghost, this shade, held so much power over Cobb. Mal was already forcing him to question what was real. She was the embodiment of Descartes' demon, making Cobb doubt reality. If she continued, she could easily make him doubt other things; like the existence of his body, simple mathematics, or even his _totem_.

"No, I know it," Cobb was saying, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer or supplication.

"What if you're wrong?"

Ariadne thought, _Method of Doubt, Cobb. Use the blasted Method of Doubt. That which I cannot doubt must be true. I think, therefore I am. You exist, I exist, and Mal exists only in your head._

Ariadne was listening to this beguiling, persuasive projection try to get Cobb to believe in her. To doubt all the wrong things. The architect wanted to go to Cobb's side and shake him!

Mal now wanted to know what Cobb _felt_.

"Guilt," the extractor finally said, and it was like a confession. His eyes were open now, but he wasn't looking at the shade as he spoke. "I feel guilt, Mal. And no matter what I do, no matter how hopeless I am, no matter how confused, that guilt is always there…reminding me of the truth."

"What truth?" Mal asked, ironic because she should know. She should know because she knows what Cobb knows…unless she's taken her cues from Cobb; to pretend to be real, to come back to life in his dreams to ruin his plans, to hurt his dearest friends.

Cobb looked at Mal now. "The idea that caused you to question your reality came from me."

Mal stared. "You planted the idea in my mind."

Ariande wasn't lost. She was shocked. "What's she talking about?"

But Ariadne knew. She _knew._

"The reason why I knew inception would be possible was because I did it to her first. To my own wife."

Then Cobb talked about being lost here in Limbo. Needing to find a way out, but how Mal wouldn't accept it. How he broke into her safe, to find what she had hidden away, and planted an idea. A very simple little idea that would change everything. That her world wasn't real. That death was the only escape.

It shouldn't have been so shocking. Cobb _did_ say he'd done inception before. He was swamped with guilt, had attempted to keep the memory of his wife alive in his subconscious, but only fed the monster he'd fueled with his own horrible guilt.

"But you can make amends," Mal was saying, still trying to persuade Cobb that he could stay, that it would make everything alright.

* * *

Saito was done waiting. One breath, two more, and then after he finished coughing, he managed to toss the fire orb through the hole in the floor.

Just as Eames promised, there was an explosion, and fire, and _legionares_ screaming.

If it actually gave Eames more time to complete his work, Saito would never know.

He took his last breath and then slumped back against the healing tub, dropping his dagger to the ground with a clatter.

* * *

Eames came back to the hospital, having taken a longer route than he would have liked. He found Saito dead.

* * *

The cage was wide enough for the team to be floating, side by side, on their backs; just like Arthur needed them to be, the perfect position for the kick he was going to manufacture.

Arthur moved closer to where Eames floated in the cage and took the time to carefully put a set of headphones on the sleeping forger's head, adjusting them to make sure Eames would be able to hear the music over the sound of the wind.

The captain of his guard must have been watching as Arthur pulled out the small music player.

He quickly signed, _what?_

Arthur ignored him and hit the play button. He placed one hand on one of the bars of the cage, holding himself in place. It left his other hand free so he could give a message to the captain of his _singulares._

* * *

Eames paused what he was doing, listening as the music began to play, louder than before when it was echoing in the mountains.

Arthur was giving him the signal!

Eames rushed to where Fischer still floated in the healing tub, healed of his injuries but not exactly _alive,_ either.

He reached out with his fury, feeling that spark of energy thrumming away at the center of Fischer's chest. Eames pressed the flat of his hand against the healed flesh, urging his fury to enter Fischer's body, to feed that little bit of energy with some of his own.

He could feel the pulse of it through the water, the stuttering lurching of Fischer's heart as it began to limp along, beating slowly. But it was there! It was a heartbeat!

As his fury entered Fischer's veins and forced the blood to circulate, Eames lifted Fischer's upper body out of the water, so he could press his mouth against his and give him some air, to force his lungs to expand. Fat droplets of water fell from Fischer's sodden hair as Eames held him up, monitoring the Princeps' pulse while he helped Fischer breathe.

The energy became stronger, brighter, something that Eames could swear that he felt burning against the palm still pressed against Fischer's newly healed flesh.

He'd healed Fischer's injuries, he'd increased the animus, now he'd need to revive him.

It was difficult to wake someone who happened to be completely unconscious. Arthur was better at putting people to sleep- but then, waking someone who wasn't exactly dreaming in the first place was an abstract idea in watercrafting. Just like the idea that a water fury was capable of moving _through_ their crafter, not needing a wound or opening to do so (he was never ever going to let Arthur live it down that he couldn't heal himself without swallowing his fury. Of course, they'd work on it, but still…)

It was said that you'd have to be mad to accomplish it. Considering that Eames was about to revive a dead dreamer, it fit. So Eames followed the natural process of a dreamer approaching wakefulness.

Eames moved his hands, pressing his fingertips against the Princeps' temples. He focused on his fury and asked her to enter Fischer's body again. She increased Fischer's heart rate and raised his blood pressure. Fischer, not quite conscious, continued to breathe on his own, fingertips twitching, eyes moving beneath his closed lids.

Hoping that this would provide as stable a connection to Fischer down in Limbo, Eames thought that maybe now would be the right time to call Fischer out of the dream and back to this level- he'd brought Fischer back through the physiological stages related to sleeping, dreaming, and waking. Eames was making him more sensitive to noise and to temperature.

When Fischer didn't wake immediately, Eames decided the young Princeps needed a shock.

Eames leaned closer to Fischer and said, "Your Highness, wake!"

Fischer barely jerked in response to the sound of Eames's voice. The sleep paralysis hadn't lifted yet, preventing Fischer from acting out his dreams, hurting himself, or moving…

Not satisfied with this, Eames changed the position of his hands, pressing one hand on the crown of Fischer's head and the other, loosely cupping the man's chin.

What he wouldn't give for better aircrafting skills…then he'd _literally_ shock the man awake!

 _This would have to be good enough_ , Eames thought as he once again leaned in closer to the side of Fischer's immobilized head, so the man would be able to hear him all the way down in Limbo.

Eames opened his mouth and _yelled_ , " _WAKE UP, PRINCEPS ROBERT!"_

* * *

Ariadne heard a sound. At first she thought it was thunder, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

It was loud, a booming sound! But it wasn't thunder.

It was a voice, bigger than the sky, shaking the buildings of Cobb's city.

 _"_ _WAKE UP, PRINCEPS ROBERT!"_

She turned to Cobb, still busy with Mal.

"It's Eames! He's trying to wake Fischer, we need to find him!"

"You can't have him," Mal said to Cobb.

"If I stay here will you let him go?"

Ariadne froze. "What are you talking about?"

"Fischer is on the porch," Mal offered, not looking away from Cobb.

"Go check he's alive, Ariadne."

"But you can't do this!"

"Go check that he's alive right now. Do it."

Ariadne did. On the porch was a bound and gagged Princeps. Ariadne kicked him and heard him groan in pain. That was alive enough for her!

Then she turned her head and called over her shoulder to where Cobb still waited at the table, holding hands with his wife. "He's here! And its time, but you have to come now!"

Cobb was kissing the backs of Mal's hands. "You take Fischer with you, all right?"

Ariadne didn't know what to say. She'd failed. She'd failed in the one thing she'd tried to do. She'd tried to make sure Cobb didn't do something so stupid, so heartbreaking. He was going to never wake up, just to be with a shade!

"You can't stay here to be with her," Ariadne begged.

"I'm not," Cobb said, calmly. "Saito's dead by now. That means he's down here somewhere. That means I have to find him."

"I can't stay with her anymore," Cobb said to Ariadne while he looked at Mal, "because she doesn't exist."

His shade tried to reassure him of the fact that _she_ was the only thing that he believed in anymore.

Cobb shook his head. "No. I wish more than anything, but I can't imagine you with all your complexity, all your perfection, all your imperfection."

While Cobb dropped the bomb, Ariadne moved to help Fischer, pulling the gag out of his mouth and letting him breathe.

"You alright," she asked him as she tried to remove his bonds, touching his cheek before continuing. He felt warm here, he felt alive. Eames must have made _some_ progress.

Fischer blinked owlishly at her and said, "Yeah." Then he tried to move his bound hands as if he wanted to cover his ears. "It's so _loud_."

Ariadne helped untie his hands, gently pulling them away from the sides of his head as he tried to block out any other noises. "No, no," she said, as if Fischer was much younger than he actually was.

Even as busy as she was, Ariadne could still hear Cobb.

* * *

"Look at you," Cobb said, sad and a little disgusted. "You're just a shade. You're just a shade of my real wife. And you were the best that I could do, but…I'm sorry you're just not good enough."

And then Mal went for her butcher knife. With the speed her air fury offered her, she stabbed Cobb, really digging in with the blade before yanking it out and trying again, asking, "Does this feel real?"

Then there was the sound of a gunshot and Mal hit the floor. Cobb, also on the ground now, looked over to find Ariadne standing with a gun in hand, still aiming in Mal's direction.

"What are you doing?" Cobb asked Ariadne, pressing his hand against his stab wound.

"Improvising," Ariadne answered before she turned to where Fischer waited on the porch that lacked a yard. Because Cobb and Mal wanted a house but liked this sort of building, it meant that the porch opened up to empty air and a scary fall. Ariadne moved to where Fischer was leaning against the porch railing, his cloth gag sagging around his neck. She kicked Fischer off of the porch and let him fall.

* * *

Fischer awoke with a gasp, choking on the air he breathed, grabbing for the forger's hands which still were locked in place on Fischer's head.

Flailing and splashing in the tub, Fischer looked around himself.

* * *

Ariadne pointed the gun at Cobb, ready to shoot him. But the extractor raised one hand up, as if he could ward the bullets away with a sweep of his hand.

"No, no, no!"

* * *

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Eames helped Fischer out of the water and gave him a helpful shove towards the strong room. "In there, now. Go, go, go." Eames said, urging Fischer towards the door as he laid one hand against the floor and tested the damages he'd made to the columns.

* * *

Arthur was counting in his head, keeping a firm grip on the bars of the cage- he'd been keeping track of how the bodies of his team continued to rise upwards as they floated in the cage, side by side.

The closer to the ceiling they came, the further Yusuf had fallen, distorting the gravity on Arthur's level. This was as far as he felt comfortable going; it was going to be now or never.

He sent another command to his captain. It was traded among the guards, given to the coachmen, and then, working together, the windcoach was forced to fly directly _upwards_.

Arthur clung onto the bars and watched as his team smacked back down onto the cage floor and were held there by gravity as the windcrafters forced the coach to fly up and up and up!

A small part of Arthur, the part that loved to fly, really wanted to be out there with them. They'd be flying higher than Arthur had ever dared, higher than was safe. It would be amazing to see it!

But, Princeps Robert had no windcrafting. There would be no satisfying way of explaining it to his guards or his coachmen.

So Arthur hung on and continued to count.

* * *

Eames sent his earth fury through the stone, felt the brief trembling as it looked and looked and looked, telling Eames what he already knew- that the damage was there, that the earthcraftings within the structure hadn't attempted to repair the damage, and that all he'd need to do was focus his fury on those four points of damage and kind of _flex_ his power.

But he'd have to watch Fischer, he'd have to be sure that they'd managed inception.

* * *

Fischer approached the strong room door and pressed his hand against the metal, against the stone. The furies locked within this door would refuse to let just any person enter.

The door had no handles. No locks. No doorknobs.

But Fischer knew it. He _knew_ that this door would open for him. His Uncle Peter had said it himself. His father had left something for him. And hadn't he proven himself? Hadn't he journeyed and fought for it?

Imperceptible at first, a crack appeared in the stone door.

There were no hinges- it didn't swing open. Slowly, the door split and moved aside, revealing what was waiting for him inside his Uncle Peter's mind.

Fischer paused as he looked inside a large room and spotted a bed- a sickbed, a deathbed.

Fischer entered the room, hearing the doors slide shut behind him. Upon further examination, the room reminded Fischer of his father's office and the last time he'd ever seen him.

And his father was lying there, covered in blankets, sweating and ill, trying to finish that sentence.

That dreaded, dreaded _sentence._

"I was dis-," the First Lord began, then stopped, as if unable to complete it. His mind was going, but he'd felt it necessary to say it. Fischer came closer to his dying father. "I was dis- disa-," the First Lord tried again.

"I know, Dad," Fischer said softly to his dying father.

"Dis-," his father continued to try and say it, but Fischer didn't feel the need to flinch over it. He knew what was coming and maybe now he'd be strong enough to take it.

Like before, Fischer knelt at his father's bedside. "I know you were disappointed...I couldn't be you."

The First Lord shook his head slightly. "No. No, no, no. I was disappointed that you tried."

* * *

The windcoach was going higher and higher. Arthur shivered in the cold, wondering if his team could feel how the temperature had shifted. A quick adjustment to the circulation of his blood, something that wouldn't interrupt his forging of the Princeps, took care of some of the chill.

But it would only get worse the higher they went.

* * *

Eames approached the strong room door. He laid his hand against it and with a flickering touch of his earthcrafting, the door began to open for him, the stone breaking apart and sliding to reveal Fischer kneeling at his father's bedside, like he did up above, no doubt.

But there was something different- Eames could sense it with his watercrafting. When Fischer related this story to him before when he was forging Browning, he was full of bitterness and anger and grief. A change was occurring.

Because even though the room felt cold and sterile, even if Fischer was reliving his last moments with his father, there were hopeful changes and hints that the inception might work.

From his position at the door, Eames could almost see the picture sitting on the nearby nightstand, the original perhaps, of the one that Fischer had so lovingly recreated in his dreams.

Eames watched the pair, waiting for the right moment to call on his earthfury and give them the kick.

The First Lord began to gesture at something next to his bed.

* * *

"What?" Fischer asked, thinking that his father wanted to grasp his hand.

Maurice moved his hand again, pushing his son's hand away as he tried to direct his attention to the safe next to his bed.

Fischer began to turn the dial on his father's safe, twisting it and choosing the numbers he knew would unlock it. 5-2-8-4-9-1.

He heard the lock open, could feel it with his metalcrafting, too.

* * *

"Come on," Eames was chanting to himself, watching as Fischer opened the safe. "Come on."

* * *

Fischer opened the safe and the first thing he saw was the edict. The papers that would allow Fischer to give up the throne if he wanted to. To give it to someone else, to give it to someone worthy to rule the Realm.

"Let him go," his father urged, there being no question of who he was talking about. "Let him go and tell him _I'm sorry_."

Because underneath the edit was another space within the safe that had been filled with two items. The first was Fischer's pinwheel, the one he'd made with his father when he was just a boy. The second was a broken discipline collar.

Fischer knew who he'd give the throne to. He knew it. When he moved to pick up his pinwheel, he felt his skin crawl as he brushed against the broken collar. He released the pinwheel and looked up at his father, his eyes filling with tears.

But his father was silent and unmoving; the First Lord's eyes remained open in death.

"Dad?" Fischer asked, reaching for his father's hand like a child, crying as he held his hand close and grieved for the man who, despite their turbulent relationship, loved him and wanted him to be his own person.

The man who wanted to free him from the throne, to break the confining collar it represented, and to set him free.

Like Saito.

Fischer continued to sob.

* * *

As Fischer cried at his father's bedside, Eames nodded to himself and knelt to the ground. He pressed both hands against the stone, called on his earth fury, and triggered the kick.

* * *

They were so high up. Arthur had never gotten this high before because it was so, so dangerous.

The air was too thin. It was very hard to breathe and fly at the same time.

He made a quick gesture with one hand, like a disapproving Caesar. He made the quick thumbs down gesture to his captain, indicating that they should go back down.

Some, but not not all, of the flyer's windstreams suddenly vanished, their wind furies lacking the element that gave them power at such great heights, making a couple of the coachmen drop like rocks.

Those that could still fly grasped onto the sides of the windcoach and fell, following their lord's command of _down_.

The fall made his team rise upwards towards the ceiling, once more. Arthur clung to the inside of the coach, following the upwards motion of the kick he'd just created.

The coach continued gain speed and fall back towards the solid earth.

* * *

The strong room was shaking.

Robert Fischer, once Princeps and now First Lord of all Alera, clung to his father's hand like a child.

Eames got to his feet, feeling the columns shattering, feeling the hospital begin to fall.

* * *

Cobb held his dying shade of Mal, watching as the world outside their home was destroyed. The wind was blowing, taking bits and pieces of the surrounding buildings with it.

And Ariadne was struggling to stay with him, to watch over him. She was clinging to bits of the porch railing.

"That's the kick, Ariadne!" Cobb yelled over the noise of the wind, over the sound of his world being dismantled. "You have to go now!"

* * *

Fischer and Eames awoke on the second level, feeling the wind racing around them as they floated in a _cage_.

* * *

Ariadne yelled to Cobb as she clung to the wooden post, fighting the pull and tug of the wind.

"Don't lose yourself," she shouted to Cobb. "Find Saito and bring him back!"

"I will!" Cobb called to her, still holding onto Mal.

Then Ariadne let herself fall.

* * *

Then she woke on the third level, the floor cracking and shattering beneath her body. She was still coming out of it, unable to move from her spot on the ground.

Cobb was on the floor not too far from her, still dreaming.

But she wasn't there anymore as she continued to fall and ride the kick.

* * *

She opened her eyes on the second level, feeling the cold wind but also noticing the heat of the bodies around her own. She wasn't alone.

In the cage, they continued to fall towards the ground, going faster and faster! The remaining coachmen and the _singulares_ tried to guide the coach but there was no chance of avoiding it now. They would crash and die.

She noticed Arthur gripping the bars, holding on tightly and counting to himself. He had said that he'd have to time it and judge for himself when to do the kicks…

But then, Ariadne felt it once more. Stranger than ever, Ariadne felt her body falling upwards, like all of them were but between one second and another- Ariadne's eyes blinked open as their coach finally hit the water on the first level.

* * *

Cobb continued to hold the dying shade of Mal. He stroked her hair.

"You remember when you asked me to marry you?" She asked him, crying and shivering in the cold. He held her closer and tried to protect her with his own body.

Cobb nodded and said yes.

"You said you dreamt that we'd grow old together."

Cobb smiled a little. "But we did. We did. You don't remember?" He brushed away her tears and continued to speak. "I miss you more than I can bear, but we had our time together. And I have to let you go."

Cobb repeated it again. "I have to let you go." He kissed her forehead, stroked at her hair, at the side of her face, before folding her arms against her chest as she lay in his lap.

Cobb took a breath that he actually felt, he felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. _Now_ , he thought as he held his gun, _I need to find Saito._

* * *

On the first level, in the river, the coach turned over. It was no longer upside down in the water as it continued to sink to the bottom.

In the back of the coach, Fischer yanked the sack off of his head and turned to look for his uncle, who was sitting beside him and also wearing a sack. Fischer pulled at his uncle's arm, trying to lead him out of the coach through the back. All it took was a few pushes and the window was dislodged, letting them swim out to freedom.

Once they reached the surface, the rain fell heavily all around them, his uncle Peter was able to take the sack off of his head and toss it into the water. Then, Fischer helped him get to the shore.

As they sat in the mud, rain falling on their bowed heads, Peter Browning apologized to his godson.

"I'm sorry, Robert."

* * *

In the sunken coach, Arthur was waving away the oxygen tank Ariadne was offering to him.

He tapped his throat and called on his water fury. She appeared, a delicate form hard to distinguish when surrounded by so much water, and fluttered around him. First she settled against Arthur's cheek, then against his raised hands, before finally resting against the point man's neck.

Ariadne couldn't see _how_ he was doing it, but it didn't change the fact that Arthur was breathing under water and not drowning.

Yusuf was probably still sitting on the driver's seat, using the oxygen tank he manifested for himself when he hit the water.

Not needing to stick to Ariadne's side and pass the oxygen back and forth, Arthur checked on Cobb, who was sitting a little further away from him and Ariadne, closer to the front of the coach.

When he noticed that Cobb wasn't awake, he began to shake him. Ariadne watched as Arthur tried to do what he always did for Cobb.

He tried to save him. He was shaking him some more, yelling underwater and allowing his carefully filtered oxygen to float away as streams of angry bubbles. Touching Cobb and letting his water fury sense signs of life, Arthur grew angrier and angrier. Cobb was dead. But maybe, if he took him back up he could try to revive him? The point man was in the process of removing the safety straps keeping Cobb in his seat, but stopped when Ariadne tapped his shoulder and shook her head, gesturing that they had to leave.

Arthur's fingers tugged at Cobb's cloak, fitfully grasping at his shirt collar and struggling to come up with an answer that didn't leave Cobb at the bottom of the river.

He couldn't find one. With one final yell, Arthur removed his hands from Cobb and swam away, following both Yusuf and Ariadne as they made it back to the banks of the river.

* * *

Fischer was in the middle of having an epiphany. Life or death situations kind of do that to a Princeps.

"You know, that edict means that Dad wanted me to be my own man…not just to live for him." Fischer was nodding as he spoke, ignoring the rain. "That's what I'm gonna do, Uncle Peter."

Fischer was busy reflecting on his decisions and his life, so he didn't see how his Uncle Peter didn't look the same anymore.

Eames sat by his side, equally tired and wet. He wasn't having an epiphany, though. He was trying to think about what his life would be like after all this was over. He'd definitely tell Arthur about his success in healing Fischer on the third level, that's for sure. He was imagining what the point man would say, what he'd do. But mainly, Eames was focusing on coming to the end of this journey and starting a new one with Arthur.

Eames smiled at the thought.

* * *

Arthur, Yusuf, and Ariadne climbed up the bank of the river, soaked to the bone and shivering.

But that wasn't going to stop Arthur from asking Ariadne what happened. He did so when they made it to some rocks and sat down.

"What happened?"

"Cobb stayed," Ariadne answered simply.

"With Mal?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer and hoping he was wrong.

"No," Ariadne said. "To find Saito."

Arthur looked out at the water, breathing heavily, searching for the words. He found them as he thought about Cobb's body beneath the water, how deceptively peaceful he looked.

"He'll be lost."

"No, he'll be alright," Ariadne said.

* * *

Getting further away from the banks of the river where Yusuf sank their coach, Eames forging Browning made some excuse for getting away. Fischer had a lot to work through on his own and didn't need to try and dredge up other parts of his dream and develop any more negative feelings for his uncle. Sure, it was a good gambit and allowed them to use Fischer against his own dream security, but Eames didn't want to risk creating more tension between the two.

Anyway, Fischer was likely to get into an argument up above with his uncle once he found out Fischer wanted to free Saito. If they planted the idea properly, maybe Fischer would do as the edict suggested and have another high lord (not of Alera, but of energy conglomerates) take over the Realm so he could do as he liked with his life.

But Eames didn't see Saito swim out of the coach. He didn't see Cobb, either.

So, they completed an inception and lost two of their team members in the process, proving that what he'd said before was true.

Inception wasn't impossible, it's just bloody difficult.

All Eames wanted to do, once he'd slipped away from Fischer, and shaken off his forgery, was to find Arthur.

They had a week up on this level- maybe they could find somewhere nice to stay? Eames was already having pleasant thoughts about that, when he heard them.

Walking together down the road was a trio of unassuming travelers without a ride.

Arthur was trailing behind, obviously thinking, with one hand on his sword.

Ariadne walked close to him, eyeing him, as if she were trying to figure out what would happen next. It was clear to Eames- Cobb was lost, Saito was lost. Maybe Arthur would be the one to try and bring them back?

Arthur was, Eames reflected, far too loyal.

Yusuf lead the way, mentioning something about what was ahead- what he'd seen as he went on the wild ride around Alera Imperia. He was distracted, turning his head to speak to his fellows. He'd make a comment about something for Arthur, or he'd ask an opinion of Ariadne, but even from a fair distance away, Eames could see the way Yusuf watched. How he waited. And how he was probably trying to come up with the world's best apology for Ariadne.

So, it wasn't a wonder that Yusuf didn't see the man armed with the balest. Eames reached for his dagger, closed his hand on it and called on his metalcraft for calm, for that nice logical headspace he needed to face the issue of an assassin sitting atop a nearby building, his weapon set up and ready.

A balest, Eames recalled, was an innovation on a bow and arrow, capable of launching steel projectiles very fast and very far. If a person were hit, they would die. If a person in armor were hit, the balest bolt would go through the armor, through the person _wearing_ the armor, and then emerge from the other side. It was deadly, efficient, and would most definitely kill the unlucky target.

The assassin's metal, t-shaped contraption was set up, the steel bolt already loaded.

Before Eames could even yell in warning, the bastard fired! The bolt flew from the balest with a flat, metalic twang, sailing straight in Yusuf's direction, closing in faster than anything Eames had seen!

Then Arthur snapped to attention and spotted the balest bolt, sensing it with his metalcraft. His sword was already drawn, but he must have realized that it was too fast for him to cut it from the air, even with his windcrafting to give him extra speed.

Arthur did the only thing he could.

Calling on Spot, Arthur used his fury to give himself speed and agility. Arthur was a blur as he first knocked Ariadne flat on the ground and then ran towards Yusuf's back. The chemist, about to turn and say something (maybe to Ariadne if the smile he wore proved to be an indication), caught sight of the fallen architect and the rushing point man, and did what he shouldn't have.

Yusuf froze.

As Eames watched Arthur knock Yusuf out of the way, sending the man tumbling and rolling across the ground, he understood that there wasn't any time for Arthur to get out of the way.

Arthur was struck by the balest bolt, the thick steel bolt piercing through the leather armor he wore and erupting out of the point man's back. At first, Arthur stumbled forwards, holding onto the hilt of his sword and calling on his metalcrafting to dull the pain. But Eames could see the blood from where he stood.

If he didn't get over there right then, Arthur was going to bleed out, die, and get lost in Limbo.

As Arthur collapsed on his side and curled up around the heavy projectile lodged in his chest, Eames called on his earth fury and ran to his side.


	17. Chapter 17

A.N: Because I am the sappiest person ever, I wrote this chapter while listening to _Down By The Water_ by the Drums and _Trade Mistakes_ by Panic! at the Disco. I'm still not sure if I want an epilogue.

 _Metalcraft_ , Arthur thought, coolly and calmly, _was the best thing ever._

When he was struck through by the bolt, he didn't even need to call on his fury to examine the damages; they were lethal, life threatening, and were nothing he or his fury would be able to manage. In that cold headspace that metalcrafting offered him, Arthur could reflect on how that thought made him feel, with little emotion, at all.

Getting emotional wasn't going to save him. Getting scared. Getting sad or angry wasn't going to change what happened or his inability to solve the problem the steel bolt through his chest represented.

He lay on his side, curled around the bolt through his chest, getting a chill from the falling rain and the cold, slick earth he'd landed on when he fell.

The first person to reach him was Yusuf.

"I- I'm sorry!" the chemist said, calling to Arthur on the ground as if he were miles away- he supposed that maybe he looked like he was far-off and away in his mind or lost in thought- metalcrafting could do that to a guy. Yusuf fell to the ground at Arthur's side, looking down at Arthur's broken body and not able to find a solution there.

Next was Ariadne- the front of her dress was covered in mud from the fall she'd taken. She too collapsed at Arthur's side, across from Yusuf, so the wounded man was between them. She looked down at Arthur uncertainly before looking back at the rooftop the bolt had been fired from.

"He's still up there," she warned. "Do something about it before he reloads!"

Yusuf nodded quickly and stood up, manifesting a bow, plucking an arrow out of thin air. He spread his feet apart, raised the bow, fit the arrow to the string and pulled it back and back, using his woodcrafting to bend it so far without breaking it.

Arthur watched this with little interest. He extended his watercrafting senses and suddenly knew what the chemist was feeling- the _anger, regret, guilt,_ and _shame_ poured off of Yusuf in waves. Not unexpected.

The bow twanged, the arrow flew with great speed, great accuracy. If it hit the target, Arthur wasn't so sure. He couldn't see that far right now.

He could also sense Ariadne's _fear_ , her _shock_ , and most of all, her trembling, unexplainable _hope_ as she waited for their third.

Arthur sensed him before he got there; Eames was a wave of _fear, love,_ and _horror_ , the emotions repeating quickly, again and again with every step he took. He _ran_ to his side, kneeling in the slippery mud and pressing one hand against Arthur's side, the other tenderly cupping the point man's cheek.

But still, Arthur could sense the _hope_ in him, too. Strange…

As if this were some training exercise, Arthur forced his fury to sense what was wrong in his own body, forcing the little water fury to enter his body and examine the damages much like Eames was doing now with his own fury. Arthur could _feel_ Eames's fury taking stock, could read Eames's shifting emotions as he discovered the extant of the damage.

Arthur could sense it as well.

 _The bolt,_ both Arthur and Eames deduced, _had ripped through the chest- doing damage to bones, to muscles, and to organs, notably, the heart. The bolt had passed through the right side of his heart, piercing the chambers, the atrium, and valves responsible for drawing in the body's deoxygenated blood. And since that side drew in the most blood, since the pericardium had been torn open, he would lose the substance much more rapidly as it filled his chest cavity._

Arthur probably shouldn't be trying to talk right now, but he had to say _something_.

He squeezed the hilt of his sword, smiling a little at Eames, saying, "Just missed my spine, I think. Second opinion?"

Eames smiled for Arthur, for just a second, before agreeing. "It just missed your spine, but I have to restore your heart, darling."

What Arthur wanted to say was, _I've always liked it when you called me 'darling'._ Instead, Arthur shook his head slightly and said, "Bleeding's too much…my fury isn't strong enough, Eames."

Still pressing one hand against Arthur's cheek, Eames nodded. "I know. You're wasting your energy trying to talk," the forger's eyes narrowed as he examined the bolt sticking out of Arthur's chest. "It would have been better if the bolt went clean through you."

Arthur laughed and it sounded sort of dead, a kind of tired, barking laugh. "Less work," Arthur said fondly.

"Less trauma," Eames corrected him. "I'll have to remove it."

Arthur was already struggling to breathe; the pressure in his chest was becoming too great, the damage to his heart, which could no longer conceivably be beating, was inhibiting the flow of oxygen through his blood.

If he wasn't treated soon, he'd suffocate _and_ bleed out. He'd lasted far longer than he should have, anyway. But, well, _he was dreaming_.

"Just give me the Raptures-," Arthur said, cutting himself off before he added, _and let me go_.

Yusuf still held his bow, the job apparently finished- the assassin was dead and the point man was avenged.

"You should have let me get hit," the chemist was saying as he stood guard, waiting to see if there would be more stray security projections out for their hides.

"Yusuf, be a dear and don't bait Arthur into arguing with you," Eames said shortly. "If he hadn't saved you the dream would have collapsed. He was doing his job, so shut up and be thankful."

Ariadne asked, "What are the Raptures?"

Respecting Eames's wish that he save his strength, the injured point man allowed Eames to give the explanation as he urged her to help lift and carry the point man. Yusuf kept pace with them, continuing to stay on guard.

"Get his legs," Eames ordered, lifting Arthur's upper body, giving the balest bolt wide berth. "The Raptures, goodness it's been forever since I heard that term! To answer your question, Ariadne, the Raptures could be compared to a dreaming or hallucinatory state. A good watercrafter capable of alleviating pain, of inducing unconsciousness, could also send a patient into the Raptures if there wasn't anything else to be done for them."

Arthur nodded, agreeing with the forger's explanation. He allowed his eyes to closed for a moment, just a moment so he could rest. "I wouldn't feel it when I lost control of my metalcrafting. I'd just slip away…"

"And that's why I'm not giving you the Raptures. You're not going to die today because I'm going to heal you."

Arthur's eyes snapped opened and as he took another surprised breath, he realized that they were going back to the water, back to the river!

"What?!"

"You heard me, Arthur," Eames said. "I'll understand it if you don't believe me…but I learned something down on the third level. My fury was so damned smug!"

At first, Arthur wasn't sure if he understood. But there couldn't be any other answer.

"You did it? You actually did it?"

Eames looked down at Arthur for a moment, just a moment before he looked over his shoulder to gauge the remaining distance to the water. When he looked at him, it was apparent. He was smiling like a fool.

"Yes. I healed Robert Fischer when he was killed on the third level. I brought him back. So you'll need to trust me, darling, when I say that when I take you into the water with me, I'm going to fix you up. Ariadne and Yusuf will watch over us and I'll watercraft you."

Arthur couldn't stop smiling! If he could laugh without it hurting, he'd do that, too!

Eames left Ariadne and Yusuf waiting on the shore, watching as Eames carried Arthur down the banks and into the shallows.

"You didn't think I'd let you go just yet, did you?" Eames was saying as he took the burden of Arthur's body upon himself, calling on his earthcrafting as he entered the water, feet stirring up the clay bottom of the river. Calling on strength from the earth, Eames carried Arthur by himself, walking through the cold, cold river as the drops of rain pierced the surface of the water.

"We're gonna run away after this, aren't we?"

"Yes," Arthur answered, watching as his sword arm dangled; noticing the way the sharp blade he held was slicing its way through the water. Eames moved them into water that reached just below his chest, getting Arthur wet.

 _I intend to start over with you_ was what Arthur remembered saying forever ago.

Maybe that was what was keeping him going? He had something to live for, something to focus on. But it was important that Eames understand this. It was important that he knew how he felt, just in case this would be the last chance they had…

"Before," he began, trying to get his thoughts in order and failing. "Say it before?"

Eames had stopped his determined marching- he stood in the water and called to his fury, told her to enter Arthur's body once again as he let the man float there, first helping him with one hand pressed against his back, well below the place where the bolt had come through. And if Eames had gleaned what Arthur meant through his crafting or if he was just being perceptive, he didn't say. He gave Arthur what he needed, regardless.

"I love you, darling. I never stopped."

And Arthur was so tired now. It was getting so difficult to talk and think. But he could hear the words, feel the emotion behind them, and was satisfied.

"Me, too," Arthur said, closing his eyes and letting Eames see to him, lying back and letting the water hold him up. "I love you, too."

Eames smiled and pressed his fingers against Arthur's temples and called on his fury.

"Sleep, darling."

* * *

Cobb wouldn't have been able to describe it. Not really. It was a feeling. As he felt himself die, felt himself fall further down into the unstructured dreamspace of Limbo, he felt many other deaths, too.

It was four levels worth of dying, compounded. It would be dying to the fourth power (If it were to be written in exponential form it would be: _drowning in the river_ multiplied by _falling from the skies in a windcoach and breaking every bone in his body as it hit the unforgiving ground_ multiplied by _getting buried in the rubble of the Legion camp's hospital_ multiplied by _getting stabbed by his shade of Mal_ ).

It was a big ball of death.

So, when Cobb was found by armed men, not _legionares_ , not _singulares_ , he was more than a bit confused. He allowed himself to be dragged out of the surf and taken to their leader.

Their old, old leader. Cobb was confused, seated at the large table, watching the little metal top twirling away before the man seated there.

 _Have you come to kill me_ the old man asked.

 _I'm waiting for someone_ the old man said now, touching an old discipline collar that glinted on his throat.

Cobb knew that there was something he should be saying now. Something important. He just had to remember. "Someone from a half-remembered dream?"

* * *

When Arthur came back to himself, he was being carried out of the water. He was exhausted, he was freezing, he was _starving_ , but more importantly, he was alive. His leather armor had been stripped away, leaving his chest bare.

He had let go of his sword at some point, because it wasn't in his hand anymore. Using the hand that would have held the weapon, Arthur began to explore the newly healed flesh of his chest- he pressed harder and looked using his fury.

His heart beat was steady and strong. It didn't hurt to breathe in. He trailed his fingers against the newly healed skin that covered the entrance wound.

Curious, Arthur looked up at Eames, who was patiently carrying him out of the water again; gently cradling him in his arms as if he were worried that he'd bruise or break if handled too roughly.

When Eames noticed him watching, he went on with the speech that watercrafters gave _everyone_ after a difficult healing.

"We'll get you some red meat, lots of water, and plenty of rest. You'll be sore and tired, but you'll feel better soon."

"You did it," Arthur said in wonder.

"It looks like it," Eames said, smiling with good humor, though his eyes looked tired. It was clear that the healing had taken a lot out of him, too. "Ariadne found us a place to stay- she said that Fischer's subconscious is pretty quiet, but we should hide out for the rest of the week."

Arthur hummed to himself, already liking the idea of an entire week of bed rest.

"I'll get you set up in a comfortable bed, I'll bring you all your meals on a tray. I'll even entertain you!"

Arthur nodded, resting his head against Eames's chest.

" 'm sorry," he managed to say. "But I think I might pass out on you."

 _Against you, next to you, please never, ever leave me again_ , Arthur couldn't help but think as his eyes slipped closed again.

"It's okay," Eames answered, remaining a firm, reliable presence. "If you do fall asleep, I'll just carry you all the way home."

* * *

The old man in the collar, Saito, stared at the extractor. "Cobb?"

He scoffed. "Impossible. We were young men together. I'm an old man."

Cobb knew what to say. What _Saito_ had said so long ago, back when they _were_ young men together. "Filled with regret?"

"Waiting to die alone," Saito finished. He tugged at his collar, but couldn't remove the band. If it still hurt him, he showed no sign. But Cobb knew about those collars. Once the master was dead, the collar was active and stayed on forever.

Saito had regrets. He had died on the third level, still enslaved. Limbo had shaped itself around Saito's view of the world- even though he made himself something of a life down here, even if he was viewed by the projections as a leader, he didn't belong to himself anymore.

He stayed down here, became old and powerless, waiting for someone to come and free him. Whenever Cobb had thought about it, he'd believed that Arthur or even Eames would be the one to make it happen.

"I've come back for you. To remind you of something. Something you once knew," Cobb said with a squint, trying to piece it all together, even though it was so hard.

Cobb looked at his totem; he watched as it spun and spun on the table in front of Saito.

 _That this world is not real._

Saito watched the spinning top, too, before looking at Cobb.

"To convince me to honor our arrangement?"

Cobb called on his firecrafting. Just a little. He needed to infuse his voice with it. He needed to bend Saito to his will, to get him to agree. He had to come back.

"To take a leap of faith, yes."

Saito said nothing.

"Come back," Cobb urged the older Saito. He felt it, just a little bit, the flare of emotion coming from Saito. If he had an open flame, he'd be able to manipulate Saito's emotions. Because right now, as weak as it was, Saito was feeling hope. Hope that could bolster Saito's courage, because the man had never lacked courage.

"Come back with me," Cobb urged once more, leaning forwards in his chair. Saito looked at the weapon his guards had taken from Cobb. His hand inched towards the gun before flinching away in pain.

One wrinkled hand touched the collar; Saito closed his eyes tightly for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

"I cannot," Saito began. "If I could have taken my life and been free of the collar, I would have done so a long time ago."

Cobb stood up and moved towards Saito. He looked at the spinning totem, the gun, and then the collared man.

"Will you come back with me?"

Saito nodded, but made a helpless gesture at the gun. "You'll have to do it."

"I won't be using a gun, Mr. Saito," Cobb said softly before reaching out and grabbing Saito around the neck.

The man's eyes widened in fear, perhaps thinking that Cobb was going to strangle him. But, soon, he realized that Cobb wasn't digging his fingers into his neck. He was slipping his fingers around the slim metal collar Saito had been forced to wear.

Cobb called on his earth fury for strength, getting a good grip on the collar before he broke it with his bare hands.

The broken collar slipped off of Saito's neck, seeming so delicate and harmless in Cobb's hands. He tossed pieces away and reached for his gun.

For a moment, Saito touched the empty spot where his collar used to be, he breathed and explored his neck, looking so _happy_ before he slumped forwards in his seat, dead.

Cobb had freed Saito, but at the cost of the man's life.

And then, Cobb pressed his gun underneath his chin, pulling the trigger and waking up.

* * *

"Hot towel, sir?"

Cobb came back to himself, looking around first-class, then up at the flight attendant offering him a towel.

"We'll be landing in Los Angeles in about twenty minutes. Do you need immigration forms?"

Cobb took the forms from her, thanked her. Soon Fischer was given the same treatment, though he looked to be lost in thought. Cobb knew better than to think that inception had been a success, but it didn't stop him from hoping.

Cobb looked up and found some of his team watching from across the aisle.

Arthur, who leaned forwards in his seat, shaking his head. Ariadne, reclining and tired as she toyed with her hair. Saito, laying on his side, watching Cobb with wide, shocked eyes. The client, still collared, but hiding it under his shirt, sat up and reached for a phone. He would honor their agreement, then.

* * *

There was there was half a second when Cobb was sure his passport would be returned to him and he would be led by the hand to the nearest police officer.

But it passed and he was allowed to walk through baggage claim and spot his team breaking up and parting ways. Sort of. Really, they _should_ because that was proper post-job behavior.

Except for Arthur and Eames, who stayed within touching distance, moving luggage and preparing to leave, together. He'd give Arthur a call when he was settled- he knew that Arthur wanted to move on, but he'd like to see the kids and make sure that Cobb still knew how to do basic parenting things like making sandwiches, reading stories, picking age-appropriate animated movies to occupy the children's attention, and just _being there_.

And, did Cobb spot Ariadne handing Yusuf a note? It was slipped into Yusuf's pocket too quickly for Cobb to catch what it said, but he was sure that there was a number on it…and then he stopped thinking about it. It wasn't any of his business.

He watched as Fischer stopped checking his phone and caught sight of Saito, who froze in the most dignified way possible. It was Fischer who came closer, looking nervous, a little sick, but still determined. If Fischer _wasn't_ asking for a moment of Saito's time so they could slip away somewhere more private to remove the collar, Cobb would eat his tie.

None of that mattered now.

He was going home!

* * *

With Miles leading the way and giving him a lift, Cobb had plenty of time left to think about what he was going to say to the children when he got there.

Would James still not understand where his mother was? Would either of his children have grown resentful because of his long ( _long_ ) absence?

What could he possibly say? What could he do?

Making it back to his home, to the home he'd created with Mal, was surreal.

So he checked his totem, giving it a spin and letting it twirl on the tabletop of his living room, while Miles called in the children.

"James? Phillipa?" Miles called to the children who played outside. "Look who's here?"

Cobb looked away from the spinning totem and went to greet his children at the door that led to the porch.

"Hey, guys!" Cobb said to them, drinking in the sight of them. Reaching out to touch their faces, give them hugs, and reassure himself that this was real! "Hey! How are you?"

He picked up James and listened to his story about what he was building, wanting to see it for himself. His children led him outside, away from the house and into the yard.

And because he was so far from the living room, from the table covered with markers and toys and the bowl of fruit, Cobb never would have heard it…

But his totem, the little silver top, stopped twirling and fell with a little _thump_.


	18. Chapter 18

A.N: If I could, I'd tally up the number of cups of coffee it took to write this story, but it would include hundreds, easy. I listened to my playlist for _show me your fury_ hundreds of times, as well. I probably stopped myself from writing the word _fury_ as _furry_ at least once or twice a chapter.

I would like to thank every kind reviewer. I would like to thank everyone who offered me kudos. I'm just happy that I wrote this, that I've finished it, and now I can start my semester with nothing else on my plate except for NaNo! It's been a blast, everybody!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. I don't own Codex Alera.

They had come back when Cobb called. Not one week after the Fischer job like Eames had bet he would, or even six months like Arthur had hedged.

Two weeks after he'd come home, Cobb called and invited _both_ of them over, because once his children had become used to his presence again (when they stopped clinging to his hands or his legs as he walked, stopped uncertainly trailing after him as he moved through the house) both James and Phillipa began to clamor over Arthur's absence. And Cobb knew better than to invite one man and not the other.

So they visited the Cobb household. The point man greeted the children like any other honorary uncle would; he gave them hugs, he gave them kisses, he gave them toys or other gifts, and then patiently listened to their stories and their news.

Phillipa shyly showed Arthur how advanced her maturing furycraft was becoming; she could already call on a few minor, not manifested, air furies, making a gentle breeze blow through an open window and ruffle Arthur's ungelled hair. The point man had laughed and scooped her up in his arms, and joked, "I'll have to give you flying lessons sooner than I thought!"

James had tugged on Arthur's hand, leading him outside so they could play in the dirt- Arthur didn't even hesitate to kneel in the backyard, getting the knees of his blue jeans dirty as he pressed his hands against the earth and called on his fury, explaining the process to James, who listened intently.

Cobb was surprisingly domestic- he brought them coffee, he brought them snacks, he immediately pulled out a mop when James accidentally spilled his Kool-Aid in the kitchen.

Eames had let his coffee go cold, pressing one hand against his mouth to hide his smile at the sight Cobb made. When Cobb came back, dusting off his hands and smelling like floor cleaner, he'd spotted Eames's cooling cup and smirked.

"Take your hands away from the mug for a second?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to do a little crafting and fix it."

Cobb took the cup into his hands, closed his eyes, and concentrated- it was subtle and maybe he wouldn't have noticed anything if hadn't been eying the cup so closely, but Eames spotted the small curls of steam from the mug.

Cobb had used his firecrafting to heat up the coffee inside the cup. Holding the now piping hot cup in one hand, Cobb used the other hand to secure Eames's coaster. He set the cup atop it and spread his hands wide, the _ta-da_ was heavily implied.

"Give the cup a moment to cool down or you'll burn your hands and mouth when you take a sip! Do you guys want cookies?"

* * *

They had stayed the night, sleeping in the room that once belonged to Arthur. It was free of Arthur's possessions now, which the point man had sent for or put in storage awhile ago.

As they prepared for bed that evening, Eames had said, "I would love to have you in your room."

"But you have," Arthur had answered, fluffing up a pillow and tossing it back on his side of the bed. "At my apartment. You've had me in my bedroom, my kitchen, my shower, and my living room."

And when that argument didn't work, Arthur had mentioned being tired and wouldn't it be better in the morning?

* * *

The morning came, but they hadn't. Yet.

Arthur, being the cautious man he was, had used his crafting to minimize any noise. Then he smirked at Eames and nearly bowled him over with some earthcrafting. He'd taken the power position and straddled the forger's hips, grinding down without mercy, pressing him into the mattress.

"Tell me," Eames had said in the middle of a kiss, having yanked Arthur down so their lips could meet. "Why we don't earthcraft more often?"

"We get carried away," Arthur said shortly, enjoying the pleasurable pulse of energy that kept both of them teetering on the edge. It wouldn't take much for either to topple off, but then, this was a part of the game.

Who could take the most earthcraft without succumbing?

"You're just worried that I'll win," Eames answered before he began sucking and biting the point man's neck, giving him a few tender bruises that could be healed with just a few seconds of watercrafting. But then, maybe Arthur wouldn't care if the kids saw their uncle with a hickey or two. Eames gave Arthur another, thinking, _Or three!_

"Nope," Arthur said, lazy and pleased with how the morning was turning out. He was so lucky, just so damned lucky!

And then there was a knock on the door, the excited knocking of a small child begging for entrance.

"Shit," Eames swore passionately, already feeling Arthur withdraw his earthcrafting. It was horrible to get so worked up and not get release! With a quick, mental snapping motion, Eames reined in his earthcrafting, as well. It wouldn't do to traumatize anyone.

Arthur stopped his crafting, reached for his bathrobe and tossed a pillow at Eames. Eames snatched at it and pressed it against his lower body, giving Arthur a nod of thanks. Arthur cleared his throat, moving closer to the door, but not opening it.

"Yes?"

"Uncle Arthur, Daddy says it's time for breakfast. Are you coming?"

Eames raised an eyebrow and then very sadly shook his head. Arthur pointed at him, clearly demanding silence and threatening death if the forger made any sort of ribald comment about _coming_ while they were in the presence of Cobb's children.

"Yes, just give me and Eames a moment to brush our teeth!"

Arthur waited for the sounds of Phillipa walking down the hall, till she was far enough away that she wouldn't exactly hear what her Uncle Arthur was saying.

"Good god, I'm not going to be responsible for Cobb giving his kids 'the talk' early! _I refuse, Eames!"_

Then the point man walked into the ensuite bathroom. After a beat of silence, Eames dropped his pillow and followed after him, lingering at the half-open doorway as if he wasn't sure he was welcome.

"Get in here, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, reaching through the half-open door and tugging Eames inside with him. "Cobb can give them whatever talks he needs to. _He's_ the parent and it comes with the territory."

Eames was about to make a very bad, very stupid comment about _that which had been interrupted_ when he changed his mind. Arthur noticed and pressed a kiss against the forger's unshaven cheek, humming his approval.

"You get an A for effort," the point man said fondly. And then, "I was hoping you'd follow me in here so I could make it up to you…"

They eventually _did_ brush their teeth and appeared at the breakfast table, maybe ten minutes later. Cobb squinted suspiciously at the pair before giving them pancakes.

* * *

Eames had a phone. He had a phone and sometimes he got text messages on it.

After breakfast was over, Arthur and Eames had retreated to their shared room to change their clothes and get ready to leave.

Arthur was in the middle of dressing. He was suiting up- after the successful inception of Robert Fischer, after Saito was released from his discipline collar and regained control of his company once more, Arthur and Eames were in high demand. Everyone wanted them, so they could cherry pick the best jobs, the most interesting ones! So, as Arthur was deciding between two different ties, Eames picked up his cell phone and noticed that he had a text.

A text from _Yusuf_.

He had to read it twice. Then he had to suppress his irrational need to laugh.

The message said: _Earthcrafting is amazing._

Then a second later, Eames received another message that said: _Earthcrafting is wonderful, full stop._

Eames was very sure what Yusuf meant by this…he'd taken it to mean that the apology went over fairly well.

Then his phone chimed again, alerting Eames of several incoming messages.

 _He means I'm pretty wonderful, too,_ texted Ariadne.

 _And amazing_ , Yusuf added in, probably standing near enough to Ariadne to see what she was texting. The mental image made Eames shake his head fondly.

 _I still think she's too pretty for you,_ Eames texted to Yusuf before shutting off his phone and moving to Arthur's side to give his opinion.

"I like this one," Eames said, touching one of the ties Arthur considered, "because of the playful pattern…"

Arthur looked away from his reflection to grin at him. "Yes, you couldn't possibly like it because you bought it for me?"

"It's a _good_ tie, how many compliments have you gotten while wearing it?"

Arthur agreed, tossing away the plainer, boring tie he'd been considering, so he could wear the one Eames had gotten him a little while ago. "Six," Arthur reminded Eames. "It's a nice tie."

It didn't take Eames long to get dressed, to pack, and prepare to leave the Cobbs, Arthur at his side. They would say goodbye to Cobb, they'd say goodbye to the children, and then they'd be off.

* * *

They had decided to take the train, for a start. Arthur had mentioned how much he'd missed riding on trains because of Cobb's aversion. Eames agreed that it would be the perfect start.

Sitting next to one another, Eames had thought that Arthur would pull out his phone, or maybe a tablet, or even a book, to keep occupied on the train. He was surprised to see the circular cross-stitching frame, instead.

A piece of even-weave linen was already stretched across it, and Arthur was precisely and carefully counting stitches as he worked. Either Arthur was just excellent at embroidery or he'd been practicing when Eames wasn't looking.

Arthur was half-finished with it- he'd carefully drawn a guide on the linen so he'd be sure where to place his needle. Eames was just able to tease out what Arthur had picked out in a cobalt colored thread.

It said, _show me your fury._

Eames smiled to himself, let himself relax into his seat and listen to the _clickety-clack_ of the train on the tracks and the sound of Arthur humming to himself as he worked.

"We'll hang it up wherever we go next," he promised, relishing the smile Arthur didn't try to hide.


End file.
